


The Metal Arm

by Red_Phoenix_Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard is not a good guy, Jarvis and Maria are dead at the beginning, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Phoenix_Fyre/pseuds/Red_Phoenix_Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knew Howard well enough to know his behavior after Maria and Jarvis died wasn't normal. No one else seemed to suspect anything, but that didn't stop him from investigating.</p><p>Nothing prepared him for the secrets he stumbled upon in Howard's lab. How could Howard be doing this?</p><p>More importantly, now that he knew, how was Tony going to fix it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anthony Stark

**Author's Note:**

> I'm 25000 words into this story at this point, and about 1/4 or 1/3 through the plot? I am still writing this, so I'm warning you now that I could stop. That being said, I have 3 complete chapters and I've never felt so driven to finish. 
> 
> As it is a work in progress. I may go back for some slight editing. If it's anything major I will let you know.
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

When Tony turned twenty one, Howard started acting strangely. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, his “father” still called to yell at him. He was still told how his inventions were inadequate in excruciating detail. There were still orders to come to specific social events.

But, Howard started to...drift mid-conversation.

Then Jarvis died, with his mother. Events directly after that became a bit hazy. Or was it for six months?

When his mind finally surfaced from his latest drunken inventing session, Tony looked around his workshop and winced.

That looked like a coffee machine on wheels. The machine next to it must have been...

Unsticking the paper from his cheek and holding it close to his face to peer at blearily, Tony matched it to the one armed monstrosity labelled as the “pizza-delivery-Dum-E-replacement.”

Okay, no more drinking.

Dropping his head back onto the desk he had fallen asleep on, he groaned.

As good as dying sounded when in this much pain, he wasn't going to do that either.

To make things even worse, his phone went off. Not just any old ring tone either, it was Howard.

Cringing internally, and debating the intelligence of ignoring the call, Tony shuffled his chair closer.

Misjudging his balance, Tony fell onto the floor. At this point, the childhood panic of not doing right by his father had started to kick in, so he scrambled to get up. Patting down the desk over him and groping for the phone proved fruitless. Trying to stand made him smack his head off the underside of it.

Clutching his head miserably as the generic ring tone sounded above him, Tony wondered where he went wrong in life to deserve this torture.

There was a whir and then his cell phone was held in front of his face.

“Dum-E, I take back all the mean things I must have said to you the past twenty four hours,” Tony exclaimed, then answered his phone.

There was an awkward pause before Tony belatedly realized he was supposed to say 'hi' first.

Bluffing was the best way to handle it, of course. “You have reached the one and only Anthony Stark, pride and joy of Stark Industries. How might I wow you today?” he snarked.

“Anthony...?” Howard's voice came to him in a soft tone he was completely unable to interpret.

“The one and only...?” Tony answered cautiously.

The only reply he got was the click of Howard hanging up. Surprised, Tony ended up listening for what JARVIS later told him was a full minute and thirty two seconds before closing his phone.

 

 

 

 

After that, he became more aware of the inconsistencies in Howard's actions towards him. At first, Tony put it down to grief. The man had lost his wife and long-time servant in the accident after all, he could easily be broken up about it.

Then he realized this was Howard he was thinking about. When Tony had been injured in that lab explosion, Howard had reacted with his own explosion. Even being laid up in the hospital hadn't brought Howard to his side while the man was citing property damage and repair figures at him.

 

If Howard had felt anything at all for his estranged wife and servant, he had to be over it after nine months. There was no way the man had a heart bigger than that.

Going over data only seemed to verify that hypothesis. Looking up his phone history proved Howard's calls had decreased in length over time.

Tony couldn't even recall the last time he had been lectured by his “father figure.” Not that his memory could be used as an accurate indicator for that.

Deciding he needed more information, Tony went to the next most reliable source on Howard: the media.

Frustration met him with this venture; there was nothing to see. Howard had been his charming self since about four months after his wife's untimely death.

The media could be manipulated though, and speaking of manipulation.

“Tony! I brought your favourite pizza from New York!” called Obie, knocking on the lab's door.

This might bring him reliable evidence of Howard's sanity, or lack thereof.

In the interest of information, Tony decided to be chivalrous and allow him entrance.

“Lock up all our projects from level one to four J, then open up the door. It's time to play nice,” Tony informed his AI quietly.

“Pizza!” he cried happily, making grabbing motions at the box. “Oh, and Obie too! Looking good old man. What brings you to my sunny chunk of the world?”

 

Obedia pulled the pizza box closer to his body. “You know what brings me here Tony, don't try to evade.”

Tony mock pouted, “And if I really don't?”

The other man just raised an eyebrow.

Rolling his eyes, Tony pushed his chair away from the desk, across his workshop. “Alright, alright. I told you they were done. I don't trust the mailing system for this shit,” grumbled Tony, pulling out a drawer in his filing cabinet and rifling through it.

“That excuse would work better if the office weren't an hour's drive from here young man. You have an obligation, I shouldn't be acting as an errand boy for you,” Obedia scolded, making his way to Tony's desk.

He probably thought he was being subtle as he looked over all of Tony's current projects, but Tony made note of his motions as he found what he was looking for.

“Ah-ha! Here it is,” Tony called out, trying to make Obie jump. Sadly, the only reaction he got was a rather disappointed look as he rolled back to his desk.

“Here are the blue prints for that advanced targeting system and all the notes for the programming. This is the prototype for the hardware needed,” Tony told him as he shoved both at the other man, grabbing the box of pizza as he did so.

The thought of food had him suddenly ravenous, making Tony absently wonder when he had last stopped to eat. Maybe he could ask JARVIS.

Before he could get side-tracked by the possibility of installing JARVIS with a “make sure Tony eats” protocol, Obie spoke up.

“This looks good boy, I'll have Research and Development look it over and give you a call if they find any errors. Enough about that though, I want to hear about your current pet projects,” the older man told him, closing the file folder with a snap and looking around again.

Tony shrugged. Before Jarvis had passed on, such an invitation to speak about his work would have had him rambling for hours. These days, it generated a more half-hearted response.

“A little of this, a bit of that. That one is supposed to make pizza,” he informed Obie, with a gesture towards the monstrosity still taking up one corner of his lab.

It was like Frankenstein's monster. In theory, the design should work, but it lacked a power source. That and it looked like someone barely functioning at the time (Tony) had thrown it together, made him want to ignore it. The arm hung by the left side of a mutilated oven, making it look lop-sided. The thing even had wheels.

Tony didn't know if he wanted to power it up or not, he didn't want an angry mob threatening him with fire and farming implements if it decided to wander out.

“It would never be as good as your favourite restaurant,” Obedia replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

Grunting in agreement, Tony quickly chewed through the pizza he had taken a bite out of.

“Speaking of projects, what's the old man been working on? He's been calling less than I'm used to, it must be something big,” Tony inquired, fishing.

“He hardly talks to his business partner about what goes on behind closed doors Tony. You should know that by now,” Obie answered, shaking his head and finally focusing his eyes on the younger man.

Carefully placing the precious box of pizza down, Tony got up to pick up a tool. He wandered over to one of his flight models for a rocket, hoping it would distract Obedia from his suspicion.

“Of course he doesn't share, I just haven't heard from Howard consistently in a while. It struck me as strange is all,” Tony continued.

Obedia clapped a hand on his shoulder in a way that would have had Tony's younger self staggering.

“Don't worry boy, your father is fit as a fiddle. You won't be needed to take over your company for years yet. He does seem to be drifting more at times, but it will pass. He's grieving, it's normal,” Obie told him, then changed the subject to another project Tony had a deadline for.

Later, Tony thought his response was odd. The matter surely required more looking into.

 

 

 

Independence Day was a shitty reason to be visiting his family.

Correction, Independence Day was a shitty excuse to be visiting the family mansion.

Coincidentally, Howard was away for a meeting that would last at least a week.

Okay, that part was planned, Tony had hacked company files to see if Howard would be away. The man, infuriatingly, had become something of a hermit over the past year.

Oh, he still socialized, and he dropped by Stark Industries enough to lord over all their worker bees like a good evil overlord.

He just spent far more time at the workshop located in their family mansion.

It also appeared to have undergone some renovation, not that Tony could find out what that had entailed. Maybe Howard had blown something up? He could find orders for construction materials on Howard's file, but no company.

He had taken up architecture in his spare time?

Tony snorted as he made his way through the house, because that thought sounded even more ludicrous the second time he thought it.

Great, now he was laughing at himself. Perhaps he was the one losing it, not the one who he shared half his genetic material with.

Internally grumbling, Tony sauntered down the giant stairs that led from the family portion of the mansion to show case section. The omnipresent lights pushed back the dark of night. His nocturnal ventures wouldn't disturb any of the staff, even Howard kept odd hours.

Counting on no one being awake unless he summoned them, Tony quickly made his way down to the basement. When he reached Howard's security door, he quickly set to work. His hands remained steady even as his mind counted down the seconds. The old man had upgraded to accommodate the times and it was giving Tony a run for his money. If he took too long at this, the security company Howard had hired would come crashing in, followed by the police.

Even if Tony wasn't arrested, his plans would be busted wide open. There would be no way to take it back.

He might even be banned from his ancestral home until Howard's demise, such a tragedy.

When the door opened with a click, Tony congratulated himself. Now that he knew he was in, he made plans to spend the next thirty six hours in here. With tomorrow being the fourth, the staff would be leaving in the morning, so no one would miss him.

Humming at the pleasant thought, Tony stepped inside and flicked on the light. The switch was exactly where he remembered it, not that he had been let in here often.

A quick glance had him frowning. These all looked like things Tony was sure he had found in his father's files dating back from before Maria's death.

Shaking his head, Tony left so that he could get the password from his tech before repairing what he had done. He didn't want there to be any evidence of his tinkering.

That accomplished, he re-entered and closed the door behind him.

Hours later, having poured over yet more out-dated ideas, Tony threw down the files he had been reading in frustration. The papers scattered over the desk and floor. Slouching back in the chair he was seated in, Tony surveyed the room with a scowl.

How could Howard spend so much time here with literally nothing to show for it? There was even dust covering the majority of his models. Dust!

Standing up, Tony dragged his finger over the edge of an open tool kit and then raised his hand to stare at it.

Did he sit and stare at the room around him?

Little wonder he was going mad, sitting around and doing nothing at all!

Kicking one of the papers on the floor, Tony sighed and bent to pick them up.

This was starting to seem like a waste of time. Perhaps it was time to revise his hypothesis about Howard's disposition lately. Clearly the man was depressed.

That didn't explain the lack of drunk dialing to swear at his son, but maybe the man had given up on him.

Tony had frozen in a crouch on the floor at the thought. It really should disturb him less if Howard gave up on him. The man had been the bane of his existence since he could read, which had been age three, possibly two.

Surprisingly, his position on the floor was what brought it to his attention.

There was a lot less dust around that one section of floor, near the back right corner.

Eyes narrowing, Tony rose with the papers in his hand and absently set them down on the desk. Then he made a circuit of the room, looking over the floor.

Now that he was looking, there seemed to be a clear path in the dust, straight from the entrance to this one part of the back wall of the workshop. He hadn't noticed it before because he had been so focused on the objects in the room, not the room itself.

Studying it for a moment, Tony decided there had to be something to this wall. Moving his gaze to the floor, he placed himself roughly at the centre of the path through the dust and knocked his fist on it, hard. To his surprise, it made a hollow sound.

Stepping back, he took a closer look at the wall. One section possibly looked newer than the rest.

Tilting his head in thought, Tony scanned it.

Secret entrance, well I'll be damned. Howard must be getting paranoid in his old age.

Where was the trigger for it though? It had to be somewhere on the wall itself, since the dust was gone from this area specifically.

The wall contained a bulletin board that had schematics and equations. The frame around it had slight gaps where Tony guessed the edges of the door to be.

After a bit of deliberation, Tony started to lift the papers to look under them. Finally, he lifted one that hid a silver push pin. Curious, Tony pushed on it and there was a clink. Jumping at the sound, Tony watched as the door slid away to reveal a staircase.

Creepy.

Shrugging, Tony cautiously descended the stairs. At the bottom, he was greeted by another door. It also had two security cameras pointed so they could see him and the door.

Well, now he had no choice but to get in to wipe himself from the feed.

Taking a deep breath, Tony stepped forward. The door upstairs he was familiar with, so it had been easier to predict and break into. Seeing as this place had been hidden from him, he felt far from comfortable facing this new threat.

Not one to back down, Tony set to work.

Going as quickly as he could without sacrificing dexterity, Tony bypassed the lock and had the door open. He then used his tech to check to see if there was any way for him to be traced.

Apparently there was something that recorded when the door had been opened and logged it elsewhere. He needed to find that along with the security footage.

Fully committed now, Tony memorized the pass code and fixed the door. Task complete, he entered the password and stared at the now open door.

What would he be facing now?

Only one way to find out.

Straightening his spine, Tony firmly pushed the door open. The sight on the other side surprised him.

The room was filled with the hum of computers. A work table was clearly set with schematics and projects ordered together. Silver walls gleamed and the tile floor was so clean it almost shone in the sterile light from overhead. Servers stood by a computer screen and what appeared to be a fridge with a glass window at head height. Tools were set neatly away in their places and new filing cabinets filled the remainder of the wall space.

What truly struck Tony as odd though, was the chair.

It stood in the centre of the room, like some medieval torture device brought to the future with the shine of metal. There were arm, leg and chest restraints. Not only that, but some electrical component that must latch around a head.

Tony took a stumbling step back. What the hell was it supposed to do?

He needed answers. Determined, Tony strode towards the computer.

A sudden scuffing sound drew him up short.

Shit... so much for not getting caught.

Forcing himself to smile, Tony turned with his hands raised.

“Hey, I was just...” his voice trailed off as his eyes widened in horror.

The man who must have been hanging back in the corner was standing with a slight hunch to his shoulders. Dark hair hid most of his face. The most terrifying part though, was that he was dripping what had to be blood.

Tony watched a bead of it fall from his right hand and land with a barely audible splat on the floor.

“Repairs needed,” a monotone voice informed him.

“I--” Tony stopped himself when his voice came out too high and rather shaky, clearing his throat. “I can see that. Why don't I just...” Tony gestured towards the door. “Go get some help.”

“You are to repair the Asset, Engineer,” the man told him firmly, taking a step forward as he straightened.

“Look, I'm not your Engineer, that's probably Howard. I'm not qualified. I'll just--”

“Repair,” he interrupted again, his voice going cold and a knife appearing in his left hand.

“Right, right, I'll just...” Tony quickly looked around the room and spotted a first-aid kit.

Hurrying over, he picked it up and cursed himself for a fool. This was such a bad idea. The guy was leaking so much blood he was likely to die before Tony finished. How long had the man been waiting down here? Had his father been torturing him?

Setting that line of thought aside for later, Tony turned with the first-aid kit in his hands and gestured at a chair that wasn't torture-esque.

“Take a seat and I'll get started,” Tony told him, glad his voice held steady.

The man eyed him for a moment, then his posture changed and the knife disappeared. He slowly made his way to the indicated chair and sat down stiffly.

Anxiety had Tony quickly moving to his side.

“First, I need to be able to see the damage. I'll cut the clothes off of you to keep from aggravating your wounds,” muttered Tony, pulling out a pair of thick scissors. They almost looked like shears, and they would work to cut off materials used for body protection. Leather being among them.

At the words the injured man pulled off his coat and started on his shirt.

“You don't have to--” Tony hastily tried to stop him, then paused.

One of the man's arms was made of metal.

Almost as if he hadn't heard Tony, the man finished stripping off the clothing on his torso.

Seeing the wounds on his body snapped Tony out of his shock.

Blood first, tech second.

Hysterically, Tony thought to himself that it was the first time he'd rated something over the possibility of learning new technology.

Thankfully, Tony had injured himself enough that he'd decided to learn first-aid. He wasn't a medical doctor by any stretch, but he could manage.

First, clean the wounds, then seal them. After that he could possibly do something for the bruising.

Some of these were definitely bullet wounds. Tony checked and thankfully all three bullet wounds had both entry and exit points. Especially since the first-aid kit didn't contain anything to numb the pain.

Wait, why wasn't there anything for pain at all? Ibeprofen and acetaminophen were also used to help combat infection. Judging by the other materials present in this kit, it was used for serious injury, like what this man was sporting.

Yet another question Tony was now no longer keen on finding an answer to.

First, stop some of this bleeding so the man wouldn't die. Quickly wrapping up the cut on the man's torso, glad it hadn't damaged the harness keeping the metal arm on, he went on to the next wound. There was bullet wound above his hip and the graze on his shoulder, and finally the one through his bicep.

“None of these seem to have hit an artery, you're lucky. Do you have any injuries on your legs?” Tony asked after having examined the bullet wound through his arm.

Pulling his arm out of Tony's grasp. The man stood and toed off his boots then pulled off his pants.

Wincing in sympathy, Tony blew out a breath. The guy looked like he had scrapped off the outer layer of skin from both his shins.

“Right ankle has a sprain as well,” the man informed him as he took a seat again.

“Okay then, I'll just wrap your arm then get the dirt out of those scrapes. After that I can clean out these deeper wounds and seal them,” Tony told the man as he set to work again. “There isn't likely anything in these after all. They're caused by weapons rather than dirt, the scrapes are less sanitary. To lessen chance of infection, I want to clean them first.”

“Chance of infection is zero,” the man replied.

Tony glanced up from where had tightened the bandage around the other man's bicep, Tony asked, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Immune system of the Asset exceeds normal parameters, risk of infection nears zero,” answered the man in a tone that gave nothing away.

“Nearing zero is not the same as being zero. You're a person, not a...robot,” Tony argued, glancing at the metal arm.

The man gave no reply.

This entire situation had Tony off balance. Normally he could talk a mile a minute, but now he couldn't seem to gain traction. He'd just continue talking about his actions.

“I'm glad this first-aid kit has tweezers and cleaning wipes. Although I could use water to flush out the scrapes better. Wipes would sting more. Do you know if Howard keeps bottled water down here? Or a tap? Only yes to the tap if there is also a cup,” Tony babbled.

When he broke off to take a breath the brunet spoke again, “There is water stored in the fridge under the desk by the servers.”

Blinking a moment, Tony rose and swiftly went to fetch a few bottles.

Coming back shortly, Tony opened the seal on one and warned the man, “This is cold, it will be unpleasant.”

He gained no response before he carefully poured the water through the scrapes.

“Blood can push out some of the debris gained from damage, but when trauma like this happens it needs a bit of help. Besides, washing away the blood makes it so I can see where the bits of rock are lodged,” explained Tony.

Transferring the water to his left hand, Tony grabbed the tweezers with his right hand. He was exceedingly glad he had dexterous hands. Thanks to his skills with building prototype tech he would be able to pull the gravel out of skin with minimal pain on the other man's part. It also helped that he could be fast.

“This is going to sting, I need to pull bits out so you can heal,” Tony told him.

Tony continued to ramble about what he was doing as he was doing it, and even the reasons. As the man did nothing but sit in silence, Tony slowly began to relax and get side tracked as he worked.

“I could probably build a bot that would have the fine motor skill necessary to pull gravel from skin. I know my hand is awesome and very steady, but not everyone's is. And humans get tired after functioning for long periods of time. A surgeon can only keep working for so long after all, and if we had a bot to handle smaller problems like this we could save man-power for larger problems,” Tony continued.

He reached the bottom of the man's scrape and paused, looking over his work. As his eyes tracked up the scrape, he frowned. It looked far more healed than he remembered, it should be bleeding more.

Resisting the urge to poke parts of it as a test, Tony quickly wrapped it and rolled his chair to the man's other side.

To distract himself from what had to be a trick of his eyes, Tony asked, “So what should I call you? You haven't been very forth-coming with personal information.”

“I am the Asset,” the man repeated.

“O-kay then. I'm sure you're a real asset to your team buddy, but I would like something to call you. Even if it's just a Mr. Smith. You aren't generic enough to be a Smith though,” Tony replied.

He had begun to wash off all the blood on the man's leg, looking for rocks and other bits to dig out. Blood was swept away by the water, revealing pink skin underneath, along with more scabbing than there ought to be.

Trying to hold back thoughts about it made Tony start babbling, “If you don't give me a name I'll just have to make one up. I could call you Jeremiah, but that brings up thoughts of bibles for some reason and even if you're mostly naked I'm not planning on getting to know you in a biblical sense, if you catch my meaning.” Oh god, what if he was one of those people who killed you if you made any reference of sex with them? Continue babbling to hide it! “Or or or, I could call you Maximilian! That's a very masculine, manly name. There's also the possibility of Shaun, Sean or Shawn, they all sound the same but they're spelled differently so they're obviously very different names that deserve to be mentioned.”

Jesus Tony, you are not improving this conversation.

“Henry is a regal name that deserves a mention as well, the English seemed obsessed with it for a while there, since so many kings were named that. Or maybe they forgot there were other male names to choose from, who knows?” Tony continued before pausing.

That rock was definitely sealed under skin. Maybe the guy hadn't gotten medical attention after a getting scraped up last time?

“Uh, I'm going to remove the stuff under your skin too, alright? It will definitely hurt for me to remove it, but leaving it in would be worse,” Tony felt the need to explain, looking up to stare at the man's face.

He wasn't even watching Tony work, just staring off into space. Was that a good thing or bad? Had he lost so much blood that he couldn't focus?

“Proceed,” the man finally stated, not bothering to even look at him.

The lack of clear tone was really starting to creep him out. Not that the situation was steadying. Was he going to kill Tony after he finished?

Back to filling the silence with words! He wished he'd brought a stereo down here.

Not that he could have predicted that this was going to happen at all.

“Right! So Charles is another royal name that is nice, but I don't think it really suits you. We could try things like Michelangelo but I don't see you as a painter. Picasso has the same problems. Or is that a last name? We haven't tried last names yet! Or maybe I could use military designations, Mr Bullet-Wounds. You don't seem high enough to be a Captain, how about Sargent? I like that one, how about you, Sargent?”

He pulled back a bit to examine the rather large stone he'd taken from the man's leg (damn, how had he managed to seal that under skin and keep walking without going insane?) so he hadn't noticed exactly when the man had gone all stiff. It was impossible to miss the sudden creaking of suffering plastic though, and Tony's gaze snapped to the man's face.

No longer a mask of indifference, the man's face was lined with tension.

Holding up his hands in surrender, Tony scrambled for where he had gone wrong. “I got it, I got it! Military nicknames are a no-no. Captain is bad. Sargent is most definitely a--”

“Yes,” the man interrupted.

Tony went completely still. “Yes?”

There was no reply from the man, but he very slowly started to relax back into the chair.

“Um, Sargent then. I—uh. That's a good nickname, perfect even, yes.” Your genius is showing Tony, he thought sarcastically to himself.

“I'll just go back to what I was doing. My very important job of helping you in a medical way. I have healing hands obviously. We're making progress here after all,” Tony babbled.

Deciding safety in this situation was best, Tony went back to describing the removal of grit with increased detail. Every move was mapped out for Sargent, every thought about how and why he took the action as he did it. Couldn't surprise the guy into breaking his neck if he knew what was coming right? Right.

After he finished his task Tony took a moment to look over the scrape. It wasn't even bleeding anymore.

Hesitating, Tony decided to forgo wrapping it and moved back to where the hole in Sargent's arm was wrapped up.

“There are likely some scabs, so when I remove this there will be pain. I need to stitch it though.” The words were met with stoic silence.

Mentally shrugging, Tony carefully unwound the bandages. Once that was done, he gently started removing the blood-filled gauze. As he had predicted, it didn't come away easily. He was certain that he was causing Sargent pain, but there was no indication of it.

What truly threw him was the injury he was revealing. When he had begun patching the man up he had definitely had a hole through this arm. Now though, it just looked like a deep gash, and it wasn't even bleeding heavily.

As he watched, blood trickled slowly from where he had pulled scabs away from the healing skin. It didn't look to need stitches at all.

The Sargent healed far too fast. This was impossible.

Keeping his mouth firmly shut, Tony started to remove the gauze he had put on the other side. The same thing was revealed there.

Slowly sitting back, Tony examined Sargent again. Now that he looked, the bruising seemed to be getting better, not worse as it rightfully should be.

At least he isn't going to die on me, Tony thought rather nonsensically.

Super soldiers, his father was working on super soldiers.

Human experimentation was definitely illegal, whether or not someone volunteered.

His gaze was drawn to the chair, the one that reminded him of torture.

Volunteering was not suggested by that.

Hands suddenly a lot less steady, Tony took a deep breath.

Don't think about it, not now.

He leaned forward and started on the other bandages he had placed on Sargent, removing them with as much compassion as Tony could manage without prolonging the pain. By the time he had finished, the scrapes on both Sargent's legs were mostly gone.

Okay then, medical knowledge was really wasted with this one.

That left...

Clenching his fist then releasing it, Tony brought his eyes to the metal arm.

It certainly resembled Howard's work. The design had his creativity stamped all over it. Granted, the red star on the shoulder wasn't Howard's symbol, must have been Sargent's.

Asset, he had called himself asset. Like an object.

Suddenly he was far less alright with calling the man Sargent. But he had chosen it. Forcing himself not to look at the chair, Tony repeated to himself, he had chosen Sargent.

“So, Sargent, I admit I'm not familiar with this model, but I could definitely muddle my way through the repairs. I'd much rather go right over there,” Tony said, gesturing to the computer, “to look up designs so that I don't have to cause any damage or pain. I promise I will return, just... wait right there?”

Again, there was no response. Tony ran a hand through his hair as he rose to his feet. What had been done to Sargent? If he healed that fast, his arm...

Expecting Howard to be going crazy was one thing, to find a pet super soldier in the basement was another thing altogether.

This wasn't the kind of insanity he had been looking for.

Firmly focusing his attention on the computer in front of him, Tony began his search through Howard's files.

'Arm' yielded nothing. 'Weapon' brought up nothing to do with Sargent. 'Asset' on the other hand, seemed all about Sargent.

Clenching his teeth, Tony looked at the file coding then strode over to the indicated filing cabinet. Pulling out the correct drawer, he ran his finger along the files before stopping at the one he wanted. He pulled it out and shut the drawer.

Opening the file as he headed toward the super soldier had been a bad idea, he really should have waited until he was seated. It was the picture inside the cover that made his legs go weak. There wasn't anyone who studied WWII who wouldn't know that face.

James Buchanan Barnes stared up at him in military uniform.

Tony blindly groped for a chair and then sank down into it.

His father...

This man...

Sargent was...

Resolutely closing the door to those thoughts, Tony covered the pictures with the next piece of paper in the file. He bit his lip hard as a distraction, then reminded himself he was looking for blue prints.

The first ones he took out and started to unfold had to do with the chair. Tony almost crumpled them in his haste to not see more.

When he pulled out the next set he was genuinely scared to open them. If the chair had been in there, would there be other torture devices?

Closing his eyes, he slowly opened the blue prints by touch alone. It took a minute to steel his nerves so he could open his eyes, but he managed it.

What he saw made him sigh in relief, it was the arm.

He checked the papers before and after it, finding the ones he needed. Then he set his mind to figure all of it out.

The design really was a thing of beauty, and if the numbers were correct, it packed a lot of punch. Not so accurate for fine-motor skills though.

“I could make it better,” Tony said, making himself jump. The sudden sound of his voice cutting through the quiet had thrown him off.

Swallowing and looking at James—no Sargent—Tony continued, “You really need a new model. This one is great, but it won't do you as much good as the one I could make. It probably has very little sensory input. I bet you crush things an awful lot.”

The man said nothing, and Tony had the uneasy thought that people treated him just as bad as the name 'Asset' implied.

Not that he hadn't already suspected it, but...

Studying Sargent's face, he could see the old war hero in it. The dirt and blood must hide the wrinkles? Did super soldiers get wrinkles?

Anyway, arm.

Repairs to be done.

Tony got up and set about moving all the necessary tools near Sargent.

Sargent Barnes, his mind supplied as he carefully tried to avoid thinking.

Not thinking about what involved a man while also thinking about said man to repair him was a challenge Tony wasn't sure how to face.

Objectifying him as just a mechanical arm to repair made Tony want to gag.

Was that what his father did?

Tony wasn't sure how much time had passed when Sargent's words cut through his mental fog.

“Repairs needed.”

His hands were braced on the desk in front of him, head down until Sargent had snapped him out of it.

“Right,” Tony replied breathlessly, trying to calm his breathing down. He had been hyperventilating, that was new.

“Right,” Tony said more calmly after straightening.

Dropping himself into a chair, Tony tried to steady his hands as he picked up his tools.

He could do this, this was what he did best.

“Now, first I need to open this bad boy up,” Tony told the man, then proceeded to describe everything he was doing, with every reason for doing it.

 

 

 

Closing the final panel, Tony examined the arm one last time.

“There are still some dents, but they shouldn't effect functionality. There's no point in fixing them right now. I'll make you a new arm,” Tony said slowly.

He glanced down to check his watch, it said some time after one. It really couldn't be one in the morning, that had passed. One in the afternoon?

No wonder he was so tired.

His stomach clenched.

And hungry.

“Food, we should go get food. I bet you could eat. I'll make us something. I'm not much of a cook, but I can manage. Come on, follow me,” Tony told the other man, easing himself to his feet.

Sargent hesitated before doing the same.

Running his hand through his hair, Tony turned around and headed for the door. He had almost wanted the guy to stay down here while he was making them something, but that seemed wrong.

Besides, Tony wouldn't want to be left near that freaky chair, he wouldn't inflict that on anyone else either.

As they made their way up the first set of stairs Tony reminded himself to check the camera feeds. Even if he was planning on stealing this man, he didn't want there to be clear evidence of it. His being here would definitely implicate him but if there was nothing to show it had been him... Surely that would protect him?

His mind was racing a mile a minute.

“So,” he said as he clapped his hands. “Do you like omelettes? I can make those.”

He looked back over his shoulder.

Sargent looked confused at this question.

“Yes?” he answered, a flicker of doubt manifesting before his expression went completely smooth again.

This was all so creepy.

“Probably best to not have an opinion about it,” Tony replied, turning to lead the way through the dusty lab and to the exit. “I don't have any culinary talents. The only reason I can cook eggs is because I didn't want to die on holidays when nothing was open. Oh! I can make sandwiches too!”

Tony opened the door and gestured for Sargent to proceed him. The man passed him without commenting.

Closing and locking the security door, Tony turned and was struck by the sight in front of him.

We left his clothes downstairs...

"Um... You're mostly naked. I really didn't think this through. We need to get you clothing. And we should also clean up. I know I need a shower, you're worse," Tony rambled before scooting by Sargent and continuing into the mansion. "My clothes might fit you. You're bigger but I have some really loose shirts. Jogging pants I can also do, but not underwear."

It was eerily quiet for a place that normally had at least a few servants around. The loudest thing was the sound of Tony's voice. He found himself straining to hear anything else as he spoke.

"I know I have a few band shirts that are too big. They don't provide measurements when you order them. And one time I bought one of every size because I didn't really know mine when I went to a concert. I think I know where those are. I left them behind here, I didn't need them with me.

"I hope they don't offend your taste. I'm sure you have excellent taste. All old guys do these days, obviously. Well, probably not but I will pretend for you. We could do a fashion show of your choices and advertise with the family name, then people would buy it regardless of how crappy your taste is. I bet that would make you feel good," Tony finished as he opened the door to his room.

He led the way in and watched Sargent hesitate before following him. The man's eyes swept the room, pausing on doors, the bed and even scanning the ceiling.

Clearing his throat, Tony opened the door to the bathroom. "Why don't you shower first? You can take your time. Oh here, I'll start it up for you."

Tony hurried in and turned on the water for the shower. He adjusted it to slightly cooler than he liked it because he knew he liked them hot.

That done, he turned around and jumped. Sargent was two feet behind him, staring.

"Fucking hell," Tony swore, putting a hand over his heart. "Do you make any sound at all?" He held up his free hand. "No, don't bother answering that."

Blowing out a breath, Tony took a step back, then pointed into the shower stall. "That's my shampoo. That's the conditioner. And that one is the body wash. Please feel free to use all of them. I'll just be in the next room, not dying from a heart attack."

He started to leave, then hesitated. "And here's a towel to use to dry off," he informed the man as he pulled it out of the linen closet and set it on the towel bar.

Then he left and closed the door behind him.

Taking a moment to lean against the closed door and calm his breath, Tony wondered how he would ever get over any of this. The entire situation had a surreal quality to it.

Hopefully adding water wouldn't turn him into an evil creature that would maul him to death.

Tony felt himself smile a bit. The guy was too big to be a Gremlin.

Pushing away from the door, Tony made his way to his closet. Time for the epic search through his clothes.

Twenty minutes later Tony crowed with victory, having found the shirt he had buried in there that should fit Sargent. He'd already managed the pants.

Thirty minutes later he had an outfit for himself.

Thirty five and he had socks for both of them, and had planned his 'after a disaster in the kitchen' outfit.

Forty and he was seriously worried for Sargent's health.

The shower hadn't stopped running, but there was no way the man needed that long to clean off.

Had the arm had a wire loose or something and fried him? Had he passed out from blood loss? Had Tony been out here wasting time while Sargent died?

Holding back panic, Tony knocked on his bathroom door.

"Sargent? Are you decent or dying? Can I come in?"

There was no answer so Tony knocked louder.

Suddenly, the door was pulled open and Sargent was revealed in all his naked glory.

The man was beautifully toned, muscles roping over every inch of his body. The wounds Tony had helped patch were pink. Yellow and green bruises dotted him all over and covered his entire left side. Scars stood out against his skin.

Covering his eyes, Tony searched for words.

"Um, so, not dying. That's good," he stuttered, then turned around, hoping he wasn't blushing.

"These are for you," Tony told him, pointing to the pile after he uncovered his eyes.

He walked over and picked his own clothes up and stared at the floor.

"You can put them on while I go shower, in the bathroom. Um... And you can sit down after that, if you want. On my bed or the office chair, your choice," Tony informed him, walking with his eyes still on the floor.

"I'll just... Be in here, taking a shower. Yeah," he finished lamely, then shut the door and covered his eyes again.

Sargent was hot but that had been stupid.

It was done though, time to get clean.

Making his way to the open shower stall, Tony was surprised when he stepped in a giant puddle. Looking at the tile flooring, Tony had to wonder if Sargent had shut it behind him. Maybe he was claustrophobic? If Tony was right and they had tortured the man, it was a very real possibility.

He found himself staring at the slowly growing puddle, as if it had all the answers to his current problems.

His stomach growled, prompting him to act. If he was hungry, the man who had healed before his eyes must be starving.

As he washed, Tony tried to figure out what exactly he would do with all of this. He had a potential tortured super soldier/war hero whom his father worked on and developed an arm for. Torture devices in a secret lab where the injured super soldier had been hidden away. And let's not forget that in order to acquire a 'dead' war hero he would have had to get him into the country without anyone knowing.

So, human experimentation, torture and illegal activities. This seemed wonderful.

The government could potentially be involved, but Tony didn't have the capacity to take that into account just yet. It was all too frightening.

James Buchanan Barnes was alive. He had a metal arm and healed far faster than anyone should be able to, except, possibly, another super soldier.

Fuck... Was there a stone-faced Captain America out there too?

He'd have to take a better look through those files his father had.

What use, exactly, did his father have for a super soldier? Obviously James Barnes hadn't been sitting around collecting dust.

Finally, Tony pulled his clothes on and proceeded to shave off all his facial hair.

Once he left here with Sargent, what was he going to do?

Tony hesitated with the razor above his face.

Someone was bound to miss him sooner or later. Probably sooner rather than later. The guy had to have trackers on him somewhere, potentially in his arm.

Quickly finishing shaving, Tony ignored how he had nicked himself.

He swiftly opened the door to his room and searched it. Seeing the fully clothed man on his office chair, Tony found himself smiling in relief.

At least he hadn't wandered off.

"Come on, let's grab that food. I was thinking of making you extra, you must be more hungry than I am," Tony told him, then started out of his room.

"If the staff were here I would have them cook us a full meal, but I know they would have left things for me to eat. They know I'm here on my own, so there should be enough for three full meals. I learned to cook while I was at MIT. I think the cooks Howard hires would have kicked me out before I burned the place down had I tried it here. I wouldn't have bothered learning at all if Rhodey hadn't insisted when he learned that I couldn't. It took him months before I could produce anything remotely edible. He has the patience of a saint," Tony informed Sargent.

As if speaking about him had made his ears burn, Tony's phone went off with Rhodey's ring tone.

Freezing mid-step, Tony tried to figure out what his friend would want.

Lowering his foot, Tony dug the phone out of his pocket. He hadn't even remembered sticking it in these pants.

Resuming walking, Tony pressed the button to answer the call and raised it to his ear.

"What can I do for you Rhodster?" he asked.

"Tony, I stopped by your house to force you into social interaction and you aren't here. Where did a hermit like you go on Independence Day? You didn't head out to a party without me," Rhodey stated. His friend knew him well.

"You know I wouldn't party without you Honey Bunch," Tony answered. "How could I deprive such a stick in the mud a chance to watch a true partier in motion. You couldn't possibly know how to have fun without me."

He checked his watch again and wondered if he had remembered to change it to match this time zone, probably not. It must be just past two where Rhodey was.

"Ha ha. You really can't judge me Tony. I know you haven't been to anything non-formal in months. I bet you haven't been to a real party since I dragged you to one," Rhodey harped at him.

"I'm sure you're mistaken," Tony replied quickly.

"I'm sure I'm not. Where are you Tony Stark? You aren't hiding from me that easily."

"Funny thing, I'm on the other coast right now," answered Tony as he entered the kitchen. There was no point in lying really.

A long pause followed this announcement.

"Your old man invited you to spend time with him on the holiday?" Rhodey replied incredulously.

"Well no..."

"You were threatened into a social gathering he's throwing that I didn't hear about?" Rhodey's tone was venturing into dangerous territory since that implied Tony hadn't told him about it.

Rhodey got regular updates on Tony's social life in that respect, his best friend didn't want to be unaware if Tony were kidnapped from one. It had actually happened once, so Tony didn't blame him.

Tony made a disgruntled sound as he pulled a platter of sandwiches from the fridge and unwrapped them.

"You know I wouldn't do that, we've talked about it. I don't want you calling the police on me again. Howard still talks about it," Tony told him.

"Good, but that still doesn't tell me what you're doing in New York. Are you at the mansion?"

Tony prodded Sargent with a sandwich until he took it.

"Tony?" There was that warning tone again.

"Look, I knew Howard was up to something, I decided to investigate. The man must be getting paranoid in his old age because the only way I could manage that was from this side of the country. I wasn't happy to make the trip, but it needed to be done," Tony informed him, leaning one an elbow on the counter.

"Fine. Buy me a ticket, I'll give you a hand," Rhodey told him.

Losing his balance, Tony smacked his hand on the counter to keep from face planting on it.

"What? No!"

"Tony, this is my last summer before being deployed, who knows where they'll send me. I want to see my best friend for the full week I'm unattached. Get me a ticket and we'll spend my last days figuring out Howard," Rhodey said firmly.

Tony felt he really didn't deserve such solidarity from his friend.

Running a hand through his hair, Tony looked at Sargent and snorted in surprised amusement.

The super soldier was studying the sandwich Tony had given him with an intense stare, though his eyes moved to Tony's face when he snorted.

"You were supposed to eat it. You can eat all of them, they aren't poisoned. I didn't even make them," Tony explained in solemn amusement. It was either that or find it upsetting, as something started to nag that it should be.

"Who are you talking to? Did you ditch me for someone else?" Rhodey was obviously trying to sound joking but it ended up more hurt.

"No no no! I wouldn't do that. This is... He's... I really can't explain it over the phone Rhodey," Tony finally said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I didn't come here with him, and I certainly never planned on meeting him."

"Are you in danger?"

"What, me? In danger? You obviously don't know me at all Rhodster," Tony bluffed.

"You better be buying me plane tickets Tony," warned Rhodey.

He paused before answering, "I can do better than that. My jet is still in Malibu, want to fly her out here?"

Rhodey read between the lines, Tony could tell when he replied, "Have it ready for me when I get there. I'll call you when I land in New York."

"See you soon, Rhodes," Tony said.

"As soon as I can manage." Rhodey hung up after that.

Blowing out a breath, Tony lowered the phone and then dialed the number for the air strip in Malibu.

As he spoke to the person on the other end, he watched Sargent finish the first half of the sandwiches with fascination. The super soldier ate like he was starved, there were at least ten sandwiches cut up on the tray, but he showed no sign of stopping.

Before he even got off the phone, Tony was going back to the fridge for more food. He pulled out a vegetable tray with dip and set that in front of the man, then went back for the pancakes and waffles. After those were in the microwave to be heated, he pulled out the salsa dip he had requested and found the chips.

Opening the bag, he set that in front of Sargent to find the sandwiches gone. The man was staring at the veggies though.

"You can assume anything I put down within arm's reach of you is for you to eat if you want it,” Tony told him. “There's too much food for just me anyway, the staff always goes overboard.”

The microwave beeped, drawing Tony's attention. He took the syrup, butter and forks out before placing that by Sargent's elbow.

Sargent went from eating raw vegetables to using one of the forks to consume the breakfast foods at a speed that may have been slowing.

Had Captain America eaten like this? How had he not starved on missions?

Was Sargent eating this way because they rationed him?

Deciding to watch and see if he'd want more, Tony took a seat on a bar stool. Grabbing a chip, he dipped it in the salsa and fished out some chunks. Popping it in his mouth, he chewed slowly.

If Rhodey was coming they likely weren't going to stay long after that. Tony needed to get started on that new arm.

To keep functioning until his friend arrived, he needed caffeine. A trip to the coffee machine made it so that problem would be solved shortly.

“Wait here, I'm just going to get a few things to start your new arm,” Tony told Sargent, then hurried to retrieve the materials he would need.

He had seven hours, or about that. Since he didn't have longer, he'd have to modify what Sargent already had. That didn't mean he couldn't start on the new one though.

After thinking about it, he knew which piece in Sargent's current arm had to be the tracking device. There were likely more in any of his weapons and possibly in his clothes.

How was Tony going to convince the man to come with him? It wasn't like he could force him, the guy likely was as strong as that metal arm was.

Maybe Rhodey could help with that?

Tony was lost in thought the entire way from his room back to the kitchen. He poured the coffee on auto-pilot and took a seat at the counter.

It took him a moment to realize there was no food left in front of him, because he had started to draw his own blue prints.

“Uh, are you still hungry?” Tony asked Sargent.

“No,” the man answered cautiously, though his eyes were glued to Tony's mug.

“Do you want some coffee?”

Sargent's eyes flickered up to Tony's.

“Yes?” he sounded so unsure that Tony found himself strangely sad.

“If you don't like coffee we have other drinks in the fridge. Let me go check.” Hopping back off the stool, Tony went to the fridge. Opening it, he started reciting it's contents. “We have, milk, apple juice, tomato juice, orange juice, grape fruit juice—which I don't recommend. There's orange pop, grape pop and what looks to be root beer—I'm surprised they still stock those, Howard never drinks them. There are also some fruity coolers, three flavours of beer and...” He reached in and pulled out a thermos. “Well, I wouldn't recommend drinking this, who knows what it is.” Leaning out of the fridge Tony asked, “Which would you like?”

The man looked rather glassy-eyed.

“Was that too many choices?”

His answer was a small nod.

Leaning against the edge of the door, Tony drummed his fingers on it. “Well, how about I get you a bit of everything, you can try them and then you'll know what you want next time. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then, but we'll avoid the alcohol to be on the safe side. I don't know how high your tolerance is and I don't think this is a good time to find out,” Tony continued.

Shortly after Sargent was surrounded by cups and Tony was back to furiously scribbling.

What felt like minutes later Tony had put the finishing touches on his designs. He leaned back and stretched, then glanced around the room. With surprise he noticed that the angle of the light entering the kitchen was no longer the same meaning hours had passed.

Ignoring how his stomach grumbled at its emptiness, Tony checked his watch. It had been three hours since he had started.

Running a hand down his face, Tony looked across the counter at Sargent, who was silently watching him.

Was that less creepy than him staring off into space?

He looked at the counter and noted that Sarge definitely didn't like grapefruit juice, pop or apple juice. The milk, orange juice and tomato juice were all gone, along with the full glass of water Tony had also poured him.

"Want more milk, orange juice, tomato juice or water?" offered Tony.

"Water," the other man replied.

Some people preferred boring Tony thought with a mental shrug as he took the glass that had contained water to the fridge for a refill. After he had done that he dumped what had been left in the glasses and put them in the sink.

"I'm finished with the blue prints, but we don't have the time for me to make you a new arm here," Tony told him, then turned to study Sargent while he spoke. "I want to be gone shortly after Rhodey gets here, though maybe we should let the pilot sleep first. I could work through his sleeping and have a new one for you... But it's best if I modify the one you're already wearing.

"So, we need to go back down to Howard's lab. We don't need to be in the creepy one, the dusty one will do. That way I have the proper tools to..." Tony broke off as he watched Sargent's expression start to shut down. He hadn't noticed the emotions that had been showing until they started to fade away, but it was obvious since he had been watching.

"Hey, are you alright? We don't have to go to the lab if you don't want to," Tony tried to convey his sympathy as much he was able.

The blank expression was replaced by a slight furrowing of the man's brow.

"Why don't we go back to my room so I can work on the arm there? I'm sure I have enough tools and materials left there to make some of the changes I wanted to. I can always improvise, I'm good at that," Tony told him with a soft smile.

Sarge tilted his head in a slight nod that Tony took as assent, which made him push away from the counter.

"Come on then, let's give you some fine-motor control!" Tony said, rubbing his hands together.

He led the way back to his room in silence, trying to figure the man following him out. With the knowledge he had gained thus far, Tony wasn't sure he wanted to understand everything.

If he didn't though, who would help this old war hero out? Certainly not Howard.

For a man who had spoken so highly of Captain America, Howard couldn't have gone more against what the other stood for if he tried.

Maybe Howard's real fascination with him was as a lab rat.

Tony shuddered and decided the silence was too much.

"I hope you like music because I plan on turning my stereo on as soon as we get in there. Normally I wouldn't go more than a few hours without music, but this hasn't really been a normal twenty four hours for me. I would ask if it was normal for you but I'm kind of scared of what you would answer." Whoops, he hadn't meant to say that.

Best way to hide it was to pretend it hadn't happened.

Tony made a beeline for the radio as soon as he made it into the room, turning it on and lowering the volume from "ear splitting" to "tolerable," or so he had been told from numerous people. The only reason he trusted it as truth was that Rhodey had instructed it to be no louder than about this level in his presence. Tony had offered to measure the exact level of sound but Rhodey had refused to be his "guinea pig." It had been decidedly unfair.

Background noise at acceptable levels, Tony turned to eye his guest critically.

"Why don't you take my office chair while I get the supplies ready? May as well be comfortable while I work my magic," Tony explained as he gestured towards the chair Sargent had favoured last time.

The super soldier hesitated, looking from him to the chair and back again.

Tony dropped his arms to his sides as he watched Sarge.

"Or we could do it elsewhere? Or you could stand, whatever you prefer. As long as your arm is steady the whole time I can manage," Tony told him.

The man seemed to relax a bit before he nodded.

Shrugging, Tony searched his old room for what he would need. Howard hadn't let him use the mansion's lab when he lived here, so he'd improvised with his room and the garage. He'd preferred his room though, less likely to damage something he'd later get yelled at for.

Once he had everything arranged at his desk, he studied the soldier standing in the centre of the room.

Yes, it would be more convenient for Tony if the guy sat his ass down, but the arm was wired into Sarge's nerves. If Sarge was tense while Tony worked on it, he'd likely experience more than a little pain. Considering the arm was heavy, latched onto his shoulder and had no padding to it as far as Tony could tell, it was definitely painful even without someone working on it. He was going to make Sarge as relaxed as possible to avoid further pain, even if it did make things difficult.

"You comfortable standing still for at least an hour? I can do this where you are right now if that's the case," Tony offered.

Sargent nodded, looking faintly uneasy.

"Alright," Tony acknowledged, already moving over to one of his drafting tables.

If he remembered correctly, it adjusted in height. Since it did, Tony turned off the brake and wheeled it over to Sarge. That done, he turned it until it was level, tightened the nut so it would stay and then knelt down. After loosening the nut holding the height, he stood to adjust it.

"Raise your arm for me, please?" Tony asked.

The man looked uncertain and Tony realized he hadn't clarified.

"The left one."

Sargent raised his arm and Tony moved the drafting table until it almost brushed his side. He moved the table top up and scooted over until he was next to Sarge.

"Lay your left forearm on this, please?" Tony vaguely wondered when he had learned the word please. He had never applied it to others before.

The super soldier did as he asked and Tony raised the drafting table until his elbow touched the surface.

"Can I touch your shoulder where it meets the metal? I want to make sure the muscles are relaxed enough for this to be comfortable. The best way for me to do that is if I can feel it. Is that alright?" Tony also wondered when he started to feel like it was so necessary to explain himself. The last day had really knocked him for a loop.

"Yes," the man answered faintly, and Tony wished he were able to see the expression on Sargent's face.

Since he was standing behind Sarge's shoulder, he had to make do with not knowing.

Gently placing his right hand on the Sargent's left shoulder, he carefully moved his fingers until they were brushing against the metal. The skin by his pinky and index fingers was red and felt warmer than the skin around it. Frowning at it, Tony decided to add more padding to the model he was creating.

With his hand in place, Tony used his left hand to raise the drafting table. When he had most of the considerable weight resting on it, the piece of metal by his fingers raised just slightly from Sargent's skin.

"There, now you just have to hold steady," Tony explained as he ducked down to lock the table in place.

After that, he transferred his tools and materials to the drafting table. As he worked on Sargent's arm, he whistled along with the songs from AC/DC, occasionally singing. It didn't take long to remove the tracking device set near the shoulder, Tony set that aside and went on to make his modifications.

While he had been making his blue prints Tony had thought out what he would do to improve Howard's current design. It wasn't as pretty as he would have liked, but it would do.

When Tony finished up, he checked his watch and saw only a couple hours had passed. That gave them enough time to eat before Rhodey came around. As much as he would like to make his friend something at the same time, he wasn't sure he wanted the super soldier to meet Rhodey on an empty stomach.

He still remembered being threatened by a knife. Hopefully Rhodey wouldn't engender the same response.

"I've done what I can, you can relax," Tony told Sargent as he walked over to the radio. He shut it off before heading back to Sargent's side. "Why don't you test it out?"

He had shut off the sound because he wanted to hear the hydraulics inside moving.

As Sargent moved his metal arm, Tony watched it and listened. It seemed to be sticking a bit.

"Can I make an adjustment?" he asked, one hand resting on the draft table.

"Yes," the man answered, putting his arm back on the table.

Tony flipped open a panel and eyed the insides, considering. After making the change he wanted, Tony closed it again.

"Try doing this," Tony told him, then made a gesture with his left arm to demonstrate.

Sargent watched him, then copied the motion.

Tony continued fine tuning Sargent's arm after having him move it.

After he was satisfied, another half hour had passed.

"Time to eat again. This time I have to remember to feed myself too," Tony added as an after thought.

He lifted his hands and examined them critically. They were covered in oil.

"We should probably wash our hands first, but that can be done in the kitchen," he murmured, then headed out of the room.

"I wonder if they have anything edible in the cupboards, though omelettes are still an option. What do you...?" Tony paused after glancing behind him, Sargent hadn't followed him.

Going back to the door to his room, Tony peered in to find Sarge still beside the drafting table. "Are you coming? We could eat up here, but the kitchen would be easier."

Sargent watched him a moment, then made his way to Tony without replying.

Tony wondered what he needed to do to get a full sentence out of the man. Maybe his bestie from the military would help.

Once Sargent reached his side, Tony started back to the kitchen again. This time instead of following behind, the other man walked just behind his shoulder. The position made Tony relax slightly he noticed with surprise.

"I was speculating about what there was to eat when I realized you weren't behind me," Tony informed him.

"I know."

Two words was progress...?

"Right, your hearing must be excellent," Tony commented, then paused hopefully. No more words followed from the other man, causing Tony to feel deflated.

"You know, you don't have to be silent around me. I talk enough for two people at times but that doesn't mean I don't want to hear from you. I may not act like it but I do want to know what others think. My ego is over-bloated but that doesn't mean people don't come up with ideas I haven't thought of. Much as I like hearing my own voice, company can be good," Tony finished rather lamely. He really had no idea what he was trying to say, he just didn't like how Sargent wasn't saying much. Yes, some people were shy or quiet, but this was bordering on torturous.

This garnered no response, causing Tony to sigh as his shoulders slumped. Well, he had tried.

As he was about to start speaking, he heard a very quiet, "Thank you."

Spirits raised again, Tony straightened as he led the way into the kitchen.

"How about those omelettes?"

  
  


The omelettes were a bust. Somehow Tony had managed to burn them not once, but with three separate tries. He had managed to find the bread and proceeded to make peanut butter and jam sandwiches, then realized there was no jam. They'd eaten them with just peanut butter and the crackers he'd found when looking through the pantry.

Sargent still ate like he hadn't seen food in days, so Tony had come to the conclusion he always ate like that. It made him grateful he's chosen to feed the man now rather than after Rhodey's arrival. He'd made a couple extra sandwiches for his friend and dug out the chips.

By this time it was starting to get late, so Tony fished some water bottles out of the fridge and put the food that hadn't been eaten on a platter. He then carried it back to his room with Sargent at his shoulder.

After setting the tray down, Tony went and collapsed on his bed, groaning.

"I should have made another pot of coffee. Staying up this long isn't easy if I'm not working the entire time. Breaks are not good for working sprees with no sleep," Tony said, putting an arm over his eyes.

"Sleep then," Sargent said, with a tone Tony couldn't pinpoint.

Tony raised his arm and tilted his head to get a look at Sarge. "Not that I'm complaining about you talking, but you sound like Rhodey when he nags. Sleep is for the weak," Tony informed him mock-solemnly.

"All units sleep," replied Sargent.

Tony sat up, intrigued that this was what got the man talking.

"Are you trying to take care of me?"

There was a pause, one that made Tony think the man was giving it thought rather than hesitating.

Then, quite firmly, Sargent said, "Yes."

Grinning Tony wiggled his eye brows. "No one can resist my charm," he told Sargent gleefully. "It was only a matter of time before you fell under my spell--"

Tony broke off as his phone started ringing, hand patting his pockets for it. It was definitely Rhodey.

"How was the flight Honey Bunch?" Tony asked into the phone once he had it at his ear.

"The flight was fine. Why aren't you here to pick me up?" demanded Rhodey.

"What?" That hadn't been part of the plan. He was sure he would have remembered that.

"Tony. It's Independence Day, remember? Nothing is open. I can't rent a car to drive there. You need to come pick me up," Rhodey explained in exasperation.

"Right, I'll get right on that. They must have the gates all closed too. If you can make your way to the drop off point we'll meet you there," Tony told him, already headed for the door.

"Which drop off point Tony? I shouldn't need to tell you LaGuardia is massive. You've been here enough times."

"Actually, I never paid that much attention, we have drivers and pilots for that," Tony informed him.

Tony paused by the door and turned to face Sargent.

"Come on, we've got to go pick my lazy bestie up." Tony gestured to the man to follow him.

"Lazy? Because I don't want to walk all the way from here to central Manhattan? You're the one who said you have people to drive for you," Rhodey argued.

"Pudding Cup, you know rich people aren't lazy; they're eccentric," Tony informed him smoothly, mimicking the lazy drawl he'd heard from someone he couldn't recall the name of.

He was swiftly making his way through the mansion to the garage.

Rhodey sighed loud enough that Tony easily heard it. "Who is we?"

"We is...a bit hard to explain. I'd really rather show you," Tony supplied.

"You better be getting a car we can all fit in," Rhodey's voice was threatening.

About to pick up the keys to a three seated sports car, Tony thought better of it. He grabbed the ones for the Audi.

"Would I do that to you Rhodster? That doesn't sound like me," Tony replied cheekily.

"Haha, I have plenty of experience that tells me otherwise. I don't enjoy sitting in the laps of women I don't know, unlike someone I could mention. Get here fast without breaking the speed limit," Rhodey ordered.

Tony clutched at his heart, even though the gesture was lost on Rhodey since he wasn't there to see it.

"You wound me so deeply. I--"

"Give me a call when you get here. Good bye, Tony."

The line went dead as Tony grinned.

He jumped into the blood red Audi Cabriolet and patted the seat next to him.

"Hop in and buckle up, we're going to have some fun," Tony told Sargent with a smile.

The man copied his motion over the door and slid into the seat.

As an after thought, Tony raised the roof. Much as he loved driving with the top down, the less attention they got, the better.

He then turned the key and listened to the purr of the engine. After a quick pat to the dash board, he pushed the automatic door opener button and pulled forward. The garage door rose with a clanking Tony idly noted to look into as he turned on the radio.

Grabbing two sets of sun glasses, he offered a pair to Sargent.

The man just stared at them.

"Uh, you put them on like this?" Tony demonstrated with his own pair before offering them again.

"They impair vision?" Sargent inquired.

"No, they keep the glare from blinding you on sunny days. It also helps to keep people from recognizing you; some. It's not effective all the time, but they're a cool prop. Come on, they don't bite." Tony wiggled them at Sargent.

Sarge snatched them out of his fingers and put them on so fast Tony barely caught it.

Stopping for a moment just to stare, Tony resolutely turned to face the now open garage door.

"Super fast too, I can work with that."


	2. The Asset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have put a summary but honestly, it would have been confusing. This is from Sargent's point of view, as such it isn't really like the first chapter at all.

The Asset knew leaving the mansion likely meant the beginning of a new mission.

Ignoring how there was no glare to be blocked by the sun glasses on his face, the Asset scanned their surroundings.

Normally, before a mission started the Asset was debriefed. As the Mechanic (Asset had designated the man who repaired him as such until a name was provided) turned up the volume of the radio to levels that bordered on uncomfortable, Asset had to assume no objectives or information would be forthcoming.

Uneasy without parameters set, Asset sat in ridged preparedness.

The Mechanic had been far better than any other handler for repairs. Asset was determined to keep him from harm. Having another person assigned to him was not acceptable. In order to keep this Mechanic, Asset was set to exceed past achievements on his assignments. Goals must be excelled in order to prove this man was his best handler.

Eyes restlessly scanning, Asset titled his head when the Mechanic turned down the volume.

"Hey Sargent, you don't have to put up with the music being too loud. You can tell me if it gets uncomfortable. Rhodey certainly won't hesitate to," the Mechanic informed him.

There was a soothing quality to the Mechanic's voice that Asset--Sargent--appreciated.

As the sounds had not impaired his ability to operate, Sargent made no comment. No question had been asked.

The Mechanic tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, Sargent could tell by the sound. He was still scanning the streets around them.

"Does being outside make you uncomfortable?"

"No," Asset replied without thinking. His eyes paused as he realized he felt enough to have such a thought.

Sargent's flesh hand raised to the metal arm, fingers touching just below where the sleeve of the shirt stopped, before dropping to his lap.

Asset wasn't used to being so exposed in public.

"Shit, I'm sorry," the Mechanic apologized, drawing Sargent's eyes momentarily. "I didn't think about how you might feel with the metal exposed. You were wearing a jacket in the summer. Of course it wasn't just to protect your skin. I don't have anything you can use to cover it. I'll pull over so you can move into the back seat. That way no one will see it."

The car started to slow, but Sargent didn't see the point.

A quick look showed no one close enough to catch a clear sight, and no cameras were near either.

With a motion of his hand Sargent released the seat belt, a quick twist had him most of the way into the back seat. Pressing a foot to the dashboard, Sargent used it as leverage to help pull the rest of his body back.

The Mechanic swore.

Less than minute later Sargent was in the seat behind the one had been in before. It proved to have a worse view outside, but kept him from being too visible.

"You didn't need to do that while we were moving! What if I had gotten into an accident while you didn't have the safety belt on?!" the Mechanic sounded upset.

The Asset was unused to handlers considering small risks of his body. He would survive a car crash. There had been situations that had proved this to be the case. He had been on the outside of moving vehicles before. Perhaps this information had not satisfied his handler.

"Your driving skills and the situation made a crash an unlikely outcome," Sargent provided.

Sargent heard the Mechanic's grip move on the wheel.

"Well, don't take such a risk in this situation again! There was no need for it. I would have stopped the car," the Mechanic told him.

"Understood," Sargent replied, thinking it was necessary to acknowledge an order.

"Good," the Mechanic replied in a strained tone.

With that, he turned the radio up past what it had been at before.

Tuning out the sounds from the speakers, Sargent paid attention to the Mechanic and his surroundings.

He would not be caught unprepared on this mission.

 

When the Mechanic told him to wait in the car, Sargent found his body tensing. He was reluctant to follow the order, but a flash memory of pain had him holding still.

Fingering the only weapon the Asset had managed to retrieve after his had been left with the chair, he watched the Mechanic approach the dark skinned military man outside.

The streets nearing the airport had been empty. If the Mechanic were a target this would be an excellent location to take him out. Even the cameras that doted the buildings and roadways were not a big deterrent. Electronics could be manipulated or shut down.

Clenching his jaw for a moment, Sargent then forced himself to relax.

Rolling down the window in front of him a crack to enhance his ability to listen, Sargent let his gaze wander.

"Gummy Bear! It's good to see your smiling face," the Mechanic said.

He could hear them embracing.

"I would be smiling, if my rich asshole of a friend had been here when I landed. Why is your company hiding in the car?" the military man asked.

The Mechanic's voice became quiet enough to tax Sargent's ability to hear it. "I don't want him to be picked up on the camera feeds here. It's bad enough that there will be records of us around for those who know where to look."

"Why am I not liking the sound of this? Oh, maybe because now you're starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist. Is this guy brain washing you Tones?" Sargent thought his tone indicated concern.

The Mechanic laughed and Sargent heard the sound of flesh meeting fabric. He looked to see the Mechanic's hand on the other man's shoulder. His gaze left them to continue scanning.

"Oh, Rhodster, I doubt anything you read on the big scary internet could compare to this. I promise I'll spill all back at the mansion, be patient."

"I'm not usually the one lacking patience," the man replied.

The sound of wheels across cement reached Sargent's ears as they approached.

"I have no idea what you're implying," the Mechanic answered in a voiced that said otherwise.

"Yeah yeah, let's just get back to that monstrosity you call a house. Then you can explain to me what trouble you wound up in this time," the military man replied.

Sargent considered labelling him as Military in his mind, then decided that might get confusing.

"Blaspheme, I never find myself in trouble Rhodster," the Mechanic returned.

There was no answer to this as they made their way around to the back of the car. The trunk was opened, presumably to store the luggage, then closed again.

"At least you picked a big enough car. I half expected another three seater despite reminding you about space," the military man commented.

"Oh yea of little faith. I am a genius, I would never make the same mistake twice," the Mechanic answered.

"Contrary to popular belief, and I'm looking at you here Tones, geniuses make the same mistakes repeatedly too."

The Mechanic gasped as he opened the door, slumping inside.

Sargent went ridged with tension, his hand shooting out to where the Mechanic clutched at his heart.

Had he missed a sniper? Was his handler injured?

"Woah, woah buddy! I'm not hurt, I'm fine. I was just acting," the Mechanic said, pulling the collar of his shirt down to expose where Sargent had been feeling. "We're all good here, no need to grope me." He patted Sargent's hand. "I'm alright," he told Sargent, twisting around to look back at him. "You can relax, Sarge."

Studying the Mechanic's eyes for a moment, Sargent chose to believe him. He hid the knife back under his clothes and turned to view the military man.

There was a pause as Sargent moved his right hand back to his side.

"I was going to ask if the guy in the car wanted you dead, but I think this made it very clear that he doesn't. That's about the only thing I'm understanding right now though," the military man said as he buckled his seat belt.

Closing the door beside him, the Mechanic started the car. He had shut off the radio before arriving to call the military man, so it didn't come to life with the engine.

"That became very clear to me too," the Mechanic said.

"Tony." It sounded like a threat, making Sargent eye the man in front of him warily.

Mechanic seemed attached to him, terminating the threat he posed might endanger the Asset's position with his handler.

"I'll sound crazy if I don't show you the evidence alright?" the Mechanic sounded agitated, making the Asset restless. "I barely believe it and I've seen it."

"It's that bad?"

"With what I've uncovered so far I could take control of the company from Howard. The evidence is damning," the Mechanic stated.

The military man sucked in a breath.

"I'm behind you Tones," the tone was the only thing that kept Asset from breaking the military man's arm as he reached over to grip Mechanic's shoulder. "No matter what comes next."

When the military man finished speaking the Mechanic relaxed from the tension he had been carrying since Sargent had moved to the back seat. This made Sargent glad he hadn't interfered.

His eyes left the two in front of him to scan the streets. Protecting what helped his handler became important as well. The military man was an asset.

 

When Sargent climbed out of the car after the military man, it was to find the other staring at the left arm. Sargent stiffened in reaction, preparing for a threat.

The other man's eyes were wide.

"Tony, did you build that? It looks incredible!"

The trunk of the car slammed shut, adding more tension to Sargent's muscles as a result.

"No, I didn't. It's Howard's design. I never would have built anything that heavy to go on a human body," the Mechanic said.

The words made Sargent reluctant to keep watching the military man. He wanted to see the Mechanic's expression.

As the Mechanic finished speaking the military man's eyes shot to Sargent's face, happiness fading to what seemed like fear.

He turned to the Mechanic. "That thing is causing him pain?"

"Yes, it has to be," replied the Mechanic.

The military man faced Sargent again, meeting his eyes. "Why don't you take it off?"

The question had him snapping to attention.

"The Asset's arm is a weapon only to be removed with death unless under orders," parroted the Asset, his voice holding no emotion.

“Shit Tony, what's going on?” the military man asked.

The trigger words had been wrong, the situation was wrong. What was happening?

“Sargent, stand down!” the Mechanic told him.

Wrong words. His posture remained fixed, his eyes straight forward.

“At ease Sargent!” ordered the military man, and the Asset twitched.

That was right but wrong.

“At ease Asset,” the Mechanic said.

The Asset relaxed, his stance shifting to be more submissive. His shoulders drooped and his eyes went to the ground.

“What's he doing now?” the military man asked.

“I don't know. I don't even know what was done with him. I barely scratched the surface of the file Howard has on him. This is... This is entirely new,” the Mechanic said.

There was the scuffling sound of feet moving away, making the Asset feel torn. He was to continue staring at the ground, but he wanted to see. That was why he was not to do so though, his wants meant nothing.

The hushed voice of the military man reached him. “Has Howard been doing human experimentation Tony?”

“Probably? It gets worse,” the Mechanic told him.

“It gets worse than human experimentation?!”

“Did you take a look at his face?” the Mechanic asked.

“Yes...”

“The resemblance to who you're thinking about isn't a coincidence,” the Mechanic told him.

“You don't mean...?”

“You're looking at Sargent James Buchanan Barnes,” the Mechanic informed him.

As if the name itself was a trigger, Sargent gasped and staggered. Then the world went black.

 

When the Asset became aware again, it was cold.

The cold wasn't the kind that the Asset was used to, it didn't radiate from his bones and make his left shoulder lock. It came from below as it seeped heat away.

With the Asset's next inhale, he paid attention to the scents around him as well as the sounds. Motor oil, leather, the scent of exhausts from cars. The hum of light fixtures, someone near and the muted sounds of traffic.

Inside, likely a garage with one other person.

Eyes opening, the Asset found himself staring at the ceiling. The whiteness of it and the florescent lighting revealed little. Gentle flexing proved he wasn't restrained. Unsure what was expected of the Asset, he chose to not move.

“You're awake?”

The sound of the calm voice had the Asset involuntarily turning his head to view the one who had spoken. Freezing when his eyes met the brown gaze of the other man, the Asset wondered if he was to be punished for the motion.

“Tony went to get information. I volunteered to stay with you,” the man continued, moving so he faced the Asset more. He had his back against a car, crouching in a position that was bound to make his muscles ache before long if his body wasn't used to it. His posture screamed “military” and that began bringing up memories.

This dark skinned man had been associating with the Asset's new handler, the Mechanic. The Mechanic had been gentle when repairing his body and the arm. The Mechanic had promised him a new arm. The Mechanic seemed concerned with his comfort.

The Asset slowly sat up, noting with surprise that his head had been pillowed on what looked to be the military man's jacket.

“Where?”

“We're in Stark mansion's garage,” the military man answered.

The Asset hesitated, he knew where they were, he had recognized the location as soon as he had turned his head. He had meant to ask where the Mechanic had gone to retrieve information, but perhaps he wasn't to know. It made him uneasy to not have the Mechanic in sight with no mission underway. 

Sargent scanned the garage another time, before turning his eyes back to the military man. He would have to choose something to call the other man, but the Mechanic used too many names for him to go with one of those. Recalling the military man had flown a plane, he designated him 'Pilot' until an address was given to him. Roles in missions were important for success, being referred to as them should suffice.

“Anyone ever mentioned to you that you're far too quiet?” the Pilot asked after they had been staring at each other for a while.

A brief review of his current memories showed the answer to be no, but that did not reveal all of his past of course.

He was forced to answer, “Perhaps.”

The Pilot smiled slightly before looking away. His expression was serious when he met the Sargent's eyes again.

“I don't care what Howard or anyone else has ever done to you. If you hurt Tony I will hunt you down and you will regret it for the rest of your days,” he threatened.

The Sargent had no reply. Threats were not new to him. He also had no intention of ever wilfully harming the Mechanic. If he were ordered to...

Perhaps he would hesitate.

It currently made no difference. The Mechanic was his present handler.

The silence continued until the Pilot looked away again.

“What did they do to you?” the Pilot asked quietly.

The question lacked boundaries, making which data the Pilot required unclear. Wanting to be useful, Sargent decided to seek clarification.

“Parameters?”

Frowning, the Pilot looked back at him. “How did you wind up...” the pilot gestured at him, “like this.”

In the interest of gaining something more specific, the Sargent looked down at his body. The clothing was unusual, it was true.

“The Mechanic chose this dress,” the Sargent replied, looking up as he spoke.

Confusion clouded the Pilot's expression before he smiled. “I can see why Tony's become attached to you. He must find being called the mechanic amusing.”

Sargent reviewed his memory and did not recall addressing the man as such before, but didn't comment. It was best to be silent.

The Pilot shifted his position, possibly getting the cramps Sargent had theorized about, then spoke again. “I haven't eaten in some time. The staff aren't likely to venture into the kitchen. Why don't we go there?”

He looked like he expected an answer.

Reviewing his knowledge, Sargent answered, “There is no reason not to relocate.”

“I'll send Tony a message to let him know where we'll be,” the Pilot said as he rose to his feet. 

He pulled out his phone and Sargent could hear the click of its buttons. The Pilot slid it back into his pocket after a time, then moved closer. The Pilot picked the jacket up off the floor, then started to move away.

Pausing by the end of the car, he turned to face Sargent. 

“Come on then, I'm not going anywhere without you.”

Sargent stood and followed.

 

The Pilot made Sargent food while they were in the kitchen. He also set aside a filled plate before sitting down with his own.

It was better tasting food than Sargent had expected. The noodles were long and narrow with a red sauce Sargent supposed was tomato, there was meat and other things in it too. He felt like there was something he should remember, but there was nothing to find in his memory.

Giving up on the thought process, Sargent picked up his glass. The metal hand clicked on it and he stared at what he had done. Glass normally was crushed in the metal fingers before he could correct the strength.

Distracted by the arm, Sargent put down the glass and lifted the metal hand, flexing the fingers. There were still occasions where he would do an action with it and unintentionally break things. On his last mission he had broken a metal doorknob when escaping enemy fire.

The Mechanic had given the arm more sensory input and 'fine motor control' without hurting Sargent. He had fulfilled his words.

Slowly, he picked up the glass again and took a drink, then carefully set it back down. Turning his eyes back to the plate in front of him, he resumed eating.

As he was eating the last of it, the Mechanic returned with a huge stack of paper. Instead of putting it on the counter, the man set it on the ground.

"What is all of that supposed to be Tony? Did you take Howard's entire lab with you?" the Pilot asked.

The Mechanic's head became visible again as he stood, then took a seat beside the Pilot.

"I hate being down there. I printed the things that I hadn't come across before in Howard's notes, all of it. I think I even missed a few. There were even scanned blueprints. I needed all of it so I could know what he's doing. I couldn't email anything of this size to myself. So, printing was the only option after deciding not to read down there," the Mechanic said, his fingers tapping as he looked off towards the floor.

"Before you dive into that again, you need to eat Tones," the Pilot told him, getting up and going to get the plate he had set aside.

The Mechanic didn't answer as the plate was set in front of him, still staring down.

"Rhodey, it's possible someone knows I was down there. I checked the security feed, it saves on another server. I think I removed the files from it, but that doesn't mean I succeeded," the Mechanic said, picking up the fork for his food without looking at it.

"What would you like to do about it Tones?"

The Mechanic looked up at the Pilot.

"How do you feel about sleeping on the jet?" the Mechanic asked.

Sargent looked at the Pilot as well.

The Pilot shrugged. "I've slept in there before. The chairs aren't so bad."

When the Pilot's eyes turned to Sargent, Sargent looked to the Mechanic, who was staring back at him.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"No," Sargent replied. He then went back to eating. If they were leaving wanted to have all of the food done.

"Not a man of many words," commented the Pilot.

The Mechanic made a sound, drawing Sargent's eyes for a second.

"Not sure I blame him," the Mechanic said back.

"Is there anything that needs to be packed before we go?" the Pilot asked.

"My luggage was never unpacked, yours is in the garage and my toolkit needs to come with us too," the Mechanic answered. "I don't have anything to fit Sargent, and anything he had on him could have been bugged. I would suspect our phones could be bugged but I took mine apart before I came here and I doubt they would think to bug you. We'll need to leave the jet behind as soon as we can, and any of Howard's cars. We should withdraw money before leaving the city so they can't trace my cards... I wonder if I can bribe a person to give me a rental car without putting my name on it. Or I could buy a car wherever we go off someone," the Mechanic said.

Sargent liked hearing him speak.

"Tony, planning is excellent, and all that sounds great, but you need to eat before you crash," the Pilot said when the Mechanic took a moment to breathe.

The Mechanic sighed and Sargent heard him pick up a fork. "Yes, dear."

There was a slight pause then the Pilot said, "I'll get your luggage from your room. Which toolkit will I be grabbing?"

"The yellow one with the custom stickers of Dumb-E, U and Butterfingers on it," was the Mechanic's garbled reply.

Sargent looked up from his empty plate to see the Mechanic had his mouth very full. If the Mechanic choked on it, Sargent wasn't sure he could save him. This made him frown.

The Mechanic looked up at him and made a strangled sound, swallowing all his food at once. "What's that look for? Are my manners offending you Sarge?"

Sarge?

"If you choke on food you could die," Sargent replied.

The Pilot started laughing. "He's mother henning you. And to think I was ever worried about your safety with him."

The Mechanic scowled at the Pilot. "Weren't you going to pack, Rhodes?"

Sargent looked at the Pilot in time to see him give the Mechanic a wave and walk off while still laughing.

Watching him go, Sargent tried to puzzle out why his concern had been amusing.

The Mechanic coughed gaining Sargent's attention. Sargent met the Mechanic's brown eyes.

"You can try to take care of me if you would like, but you don't have to. I'll help you either way," the Mechanic explained.

Sargent stared at the Mechanic, no response was necessary for such a statement.

“Do you understand?” the Mechanic asked, frowning.

The question didn't make sense. “Parameters?”

“Do you understand what I just said?”

“Yes.” The sentences made sense, even if the information in them was irrelevant. There was nothing Sargent needed help with.

The Mechanic relaxed and nodded. He began eating again under Sargent's watchful eye.

Some time later the Pilot reentered the kitchen holding a sweater.

“Didn't I buy you that?” the Mechanic asked, looking at the Pilot.

“Yes, and I'm going to give it to Barnes,” the Pilot replied.

Sargent twitched at the name, something shifting around in his mind.

“He likes to be called Sargent,” the Mechanic informed the Pilot.

“Sargent it is then. You can wear this when we're outside to cover up that arm.” The Pilot offered Sargent the sweater.

Taking it from him, Sargent asked quietly, “Gloves?”

“I don't have any packed. Do you Tones?”

“Nope, not the time of year for it,” the Mechanic answered with a mouth full of food.

“Even if it was I doubt you would have packed any. I shouldn't have even asked,” the Pilot said.

“I'm sure I have some,” the Mechanic replied.

“Yes, you do. I bought you some while you were still at MIT. I've never seen you wear them unless I made you do it.”

The Mechanic started eating faster, obviously avoiding having to say anything.

“Where will we be flying to? I refuelled the jet while I waited for you, Tony, so there's no reason to delay.”

“It can't be far since you have to sleep,” the Mechanic answered.

“I'm sure you need sleep too Tony. You look exhausted,” the Pilot said.

Sargent thought so as well, the man hadn't slept in many hours.

“I'll sleep.” 

Looking at the Pilot, Sargent didn't think he seemed any more convinced that the Mechanic was speaking the truth than Sargent was.

“Let's go to Bangor, Maine. It's close to Canada if we need to cross the border and it isn't a long flight,” the Pilot suggested.

The Mechanic lifted his shoulders and dropped them again, “That should be fine.” He had finished his food and was back to staring at the papers on the floor.

“Come on, I'll drive us there,” the Pilot said, then he leaned down and picked up half the stack of paper the Mechanic had brought.

After picking up what was left, the Mechanic looked back over his shoulder to Sargent, “Come on, Sarge, let's go.”

Standing, Sargent pulled on the sweater, then trailed after the other men. He contemplated what his mission parameters could be this time.

 

The Pilot had come back after they had landed and told Sargent to sleep. Sargent had watched the Mechanic try reading the papers he had brought with him, but his body had shut down. The man had even slept through them landing.

When the Asset woke in the morning he was instantly disoriented. He had never woken up sitting up in something comfortable.

His hands flexed on the seat's arms, causing the left one to creak slightly. Startled by the sound, the Asset snapped his eyes up and stared around.

The interior of the jet was filled with rich materials, like the seat he was in. Even with the lights off and the shutters over the windows down, the Sargent was able to tell.

A mental review of the past hours had the Sargent confused. Nothing much had occurred. There had been no mission assignment, he had been fed, upgraded and then told to sleep. No one had used the chair, he had not been punished, he had not been frozen and he had not been given targets.

Was he doing something incorrectly? No, punishment would have been dispensed in that case. 

What was happening then?

'Friends,' a voice said in his head.

What?

Sargent put his hand to the side of his head, his eyes tracking around the room.

'Don't be dense, you've made friends,' the voice continued.

Frowning, Sargent closed his eyes.

'Who are you and what are you doing in my mind?' Sargent demanded. It was the one place where he was to have his own self. They could erase it, but it was his to function in. It may not be perfect but if they didn't need his body and mind he would have been shot long ago, so he could be proud of it.

'Easy, I don't know what I'm doing here. I just...your mind? What do you mean I'm in your mind?' the voice sounded upset.

Sargent sat back in the chair, dropping his arm back to the rest for it. 

'Just don't disturb anything or report to anyone,' Sargent ordered.

'Because I know how to get out! How can I not disturb anything when I can't see anything!' the voice said, it sounded male.

Ignoring it as irrelevant, Sargent opened his eyes again, assessing the current situation.

The Pilot and Mechanic both still slept, they needed more rest than Sargent. There wasn't anything Sargent was assigned to do.

He could train his body, it required it, but he had not been ordered to do so. The space also wasn't sufficient for his usual exercises.

The external environment dealt with...

'Hey! Don't ignore me,' the voice spoke again.

Sargent closed his eyes and waited.

'Where are you?' the male asked.

'I am where you are,' replied Sargent.

'That makes no fucking sense!'

'It is the truth,' answered Sargent.

A picture formed in Sargent's mind. It looked much like the man he saw in reflective surfaces and normally identified as himself. There was something different about this picture though. Perhaps it was the shorter hair.

The man in Sargent's mind crossed his arms. 'I know you're here, show yourself.'

To Sargent's surprise, he felt himself...form in the blank space around the other man. The metal fist clenched and Sargent recognized that he was wearing his standard mission gear. Instantly he scanned the other man for weapons.

The man was wearing a military uniform, Sargent's mind supplied that the gear was outdated. The gun hadn't been issued in decades after SI's advances and the jacket provided little protection. Sargent could see the shirt and undershirt, neither were any better.

Suddenly the gun was in the man's hand, and the both of them were aiming for the other's head.

'Hydra,' the other man said it like a curse. 'I should have known they had captured me again.'

Sargent didn't know why he didn't fire. There was no reason not to eliminate the threat, the Asset...Sargent was more important than some military man from the past.

'Let me out and I won't splatter your brains all over the nearest wall,' the man threatened.

'What wall?' Sargent asked. The man made no sense.

The man scowled and looked away. 

Taking advantage of the inattention, Sargent sprang forward and knocked the gun away. The man retaliated by making a grab for Sargent's. 

Sargent kept it out of his reach and punched him in the solar plexus. 

When the man reeled from it, Sargent kicked for his left knee. 

The other man managed to dodge it. 

Drawing closer, Sargent let the other man take a swing for him.

As the right handed punch neared, Sargent snatched out of the air and twisted.

The man rolled with it and tried keep it from pinning him.

Sargent tightened his grip until the man hissed from it and kicked the back of the other's knees.

The man tried to punch him with his free arm.

Blocking it, Sargent reeled the man in and dropped his gun. 

His hand now free he grabbed the man's other arm and he threw his weight forward.

The man lurched the side but Sargent was prepared.

A short amount of time later Sargent had the man pinned under him on the floor.

He efficiently tied the man's wrists together and then his ankles.

Task finished, Sargent stood and stepped back.

The man struggled onto his side, panting from fighting Sargent the entire time.

Sargent wasn't sure why he had spared his life. 

He picked up his gun, checked it over, then put it back into position on his body.

Task complete, he went back to watching the man.

'Are you just going to stare at me?' the man demanded.

After a second's consideration, Sargent replied, 'Yes.'

'What? Why?'

'I have no orders,' Sargent replied.

'So after capturing me you're just to stand there and stare at me?'

'No,' Sargent answered.

'No?'

'Why does no one make sense lately?' Sargent found himself asking. He hadn't intended to voice that.

His face twitched. Keeping his thoughts unvoiced was harder in his mind.

'What are you on about?' the man demanded.

Retreat seemed best. The mental invader was subdued.

Sargent turned and left.

'Wait!' the man shouted, but Sargent was already opening his eyes, ignoring him.

Perhaps the chair would get rid of the man in his mind. Sargent shuddered at the thought.

If he reported it, the situation could be fixed.

Did Sargent want to report it?

No.

Best to say nothing then.

His body reminded him it had functions it needed to have fulfilled.

Sargent stood and went to the bathroom.

After using the toilet and washing his hands, Sargent hesitated. 

There was a mirror in front of him.

Raising his eyes, Sargent met his own cold blue eyes. His hair was past chin-length, his face was covered in enough stubble to be easily visible. His cheek bones were sharp, the skin fitting tight in a way that suggested a need for more nourishment.

Looking away, Sargent turned to the door and stepped out. 

The face in his mind had been clean-shaven, hair cut short in a military standard. It had been the same face, but less drawn. It had expression.

His had been blank.

The two on the plane with him were still sleeping as he settled back into his seat.

Information was needed.

Appearing next to the man was easier than he had expected.

'Who are you?' he asked the man.

The man didn't answer, just made an angry face at him.

Impatient, Sargent grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a seated position with the metal arm. The click of metal on metal drew his attention to the man's neck.

Ignoring how the other fought him, Sargent tugged at the chain around the man's neck with his right hand.

Dog tags were lifted out from under the shirt.

Standard issue, US Military, his mind supplied.

Pushing the man back down into a face-down position again, Sargent ignored the cursing. Pulling the dog tags around, Sargent read the name.

James B. Barnes.

Sargent barely breathed as he read the number under it and the Brooklyn address.

He was shaking by the time he was finished.

He dropped the tags and scrambled away from the tied up man as if he would suddenly catch fire.

'Why are you scared?' the man sounded confused.

Sargent met the man's eyes and found himself saying, 'James Buchanan Barnes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter should be out before the end of the month. I'll be switching back to Tony's POV.
> 
> Remember, kudos, comments and bookmarks make me happy and if I'm happy I'm far more likely to consider posting the next chapter sooner :P
> 
> Seriously though, please let me know if you like it, encouragement helps <3


	3. Tony Stark

Tony came awake when someone yelled.

“Fucking hell!” he yelled back, jumping up and making papers scatter across the floor. He instinctively wrapped one arm around his head as he backed away from where the shout had come from.

The light was suddenly on, making Tony cringe.

“What scared you, Sargent?” Rhodey asked from somewhere behind him.

There was a loud crash after Rhodey spoke, making Tony look up and try to see what was happening.

Sargent was collapsed on to floor in the aisle in front of him.

Rhodey swore and hurried to the man's side, checking his pulse.

“Is it just me or does he like being on the floor?” Tony asked.

“Tony!” Rhodey quietly scolded.

“What?” Tony asked, making his way towards where he knew there was coffee. Why hadn't he made any last night?

“This is not a time for joking,” his friend replied.

“You say that a lot,” Tony observed.

“Because you joke when you shouldn't a lot!”

“Maybe I just have a better sense of humour,” Tony answered.

“This isn't funny,” Rhodey insisted, crowding in next to Tony.

“No, it really isn't,” Tony said darkly. He was far more aware of it than Rhodey was.

Rhodey sighed. “I know you Tones, but he doesn't. Please don't make jokes at his expense.”

“He couldn't hear me,” Tony muttered.

“You don't know that,” Rhodey retorted.

“The likelihood he heard it was so low I won't bother giving you numbers Rhodes,” Tony gritted out.

There was a pause as they both watched the coffee machine burble to life.

“You learned something last night,” Rhodey said softly.

Tony ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I'm surprised I slept at all,” he said ruefully. “If he hadn't woken me up I might have been the one shouting myself out of dreamland.”

“What did you find out?”

“I read most of their file on 'the Asset,'” Tony told him, his fists clenching. Shaking his head, he went to get two mugs from the cabinets. “They experimented on him. Mostly on his mind. Then they used him to kill people.”

“You...you're serious...”

Tony turned around to meet his friend's eyes. “Yes. They suppressed his memories. Made him into an automaton that obeyed their every order. His 'owners' were pleased with his unthinking lack of mercy. They tried making more, but it seems only a super soldier can survive the...chair.” 

Swallowing to keep his stomach down, Tony looked away, no longer able to meet Rhodey's eyes. 

“The file wasn't entirely complete, I don't know what phrase puts him under, but I do know he hasn't been acting as he usually does. He's...malfunctioning,” Tony spat out the last word, wishing he had a better one. “The human mind wasn't meant to handle anything like this. If he's having trouble he's likely to be erratic. I'm not surprised he's passing out.”

Two hands took his shoulders and Tony stiffened. He belatedly realized he had turned his back on Rhodey while speaking.

“Tones,” Rhodey said gently, “it isn't your fault. We'll do our best to help him.”

“That isn't good enough Rhodey! He was a good man! One of the greatest! And they did—they did that to him!” Tony snapped with a sharp gesture towards where James Barnes was lying on the ground.

“Hey,” Rhodey said gently, massaging his shoulders as Tony leaned into the counter. “It's bad, I'm not saying it isn't. We can't focus on that. Planning, remember?”

Tony blew out a breath and hung his head, letting his friend's actions and words start to relax him.

Soon enough the coffee machine turned off with a click.

Ignoring how the top still was dripping, Tony grabbed the pot and poured two coffees. Absently he made one for himself and made one the way he knew Rhodey liked it. 

He burnt his tongue when he tried to take a drink, and made a face.

Rhodey chuckled at him and took his own mug back to a seat.

“What are the plans for today?” Rhodey asked after Tony had sat down.

“I need to do more research and pick where we go to next. We also need to get into contact with some kind of government agency. I don't know which though. We'll have to look into it,” Tony told Rhodey.

“I can make us breakfast with the food you have aboard, but we'll need to go out to get food and refuel. You should have enough money from the ATM to buy us food,” Rhodey teased.

Tony glared at his friend for the reminder. The ATM from last night had only contained eight-thousand-four-hundred-twenty dollars in it. No matter what Tony had done, he would not have been able to retrieve more from it. Strictly speaking, he shouldn't have been able to take out every twenty it had in it, he had managed to get around that, but that hadn't helped. He had ranted about it when he got back in the car. Rhodey had thought it was hilarious.

From the smirk on Rhodey's face he could see that his friend still did.

Making a sniffing sound, Tony said placidly, “I don't smell food cooking.”

Laughing, Rhodey got up and smacked his shoulder. 

“I'll be back with food.” He went to the kitchenette and set to work.

With his friend gone, Tony stared at the man stretched out between the seats.

“Sargent,” he called, testing.

The super soldier's eyes opened and his breath stalled. He slowly sat up and looked over at Tony.

“Yes?” Sargent asked.

“Welcome back,” Tony said with a relieved smile.

Sargent looked confused.

“Why don't you move into a more comfortable seat? Do you want anything to do?” Tony inquired.

“Do?” Sargent repeated, already moving into another chair.

“Yes, do. We'll be sitting here for a while. I could get you paper and a pen if you want,” Tony offered.

“Yes?”

Yeah, options weren't something he was used to...

Blowing out a breath at the thought, Tony pulled out some paper he used as scrap and a pen. He offered them to Sargent.

“Here, you can write or draw. I don't really have too much else here. Most of my tools are at home. I don't even have anything to read around here, unless you're interested in textbooks or scientific journals,” Tony told Sargent.

Sargent shook his head and stared at the pen and paper in his hands.

Tony pulled out a tray and patted it. “You can set the paper here for a steady surface if you need it.”

After setting the paper down, Sargent played with the pen in his right hand.

Leaving him to it, Tony picked up his pile of papers and started sorting it. He reached into a compartment and absently pulled out a bunch of folders and a few paper clips. Organizing his father's work by project was his first priority.

When Rhodey came out with food a short time later he had everything sorted and was staring a single file on the tray in front of him. Moving it to make room, Rhodey set the steaming plate of bacon and eggs in front of Tony.

“I know the outside of that file is fascinating Tones, but your stomach needs something in it. Even machines need fuel,” Rhodey informed him.

Nodding, Tony picked up his fork and tapped it on the edge of his plate. He waited until he saw Rhodey sitting in his peripheral vision before speaking.

“Howard always had a fascination with Captain America. Did you know he helped make the man into a super soldier?” Tony asked, not taking his eyes off the folder yet.

“I think everyone knows Howard was involved with the tech back in the day,” Rhodey replied cautiously.

“I always thought it was hero worship. Captain America was a model citizen. He saved countless lives even before he kept that plane from making it to the good ol' US of A. The man was all he seemed to want to talk about when he was drunk, always saying how great he was,” Tony continued.

Before his friend could interrupt, Tony barrelled on.

“Maybe he thought he should have known some way to save the man. After all, he supplied them with all of their equipment. In the end that didn't do him any good. That was what I had thought. But—

“He's still looking,” Tony finished, flipping open the folder in front of him. The masked face of Captain America stared back at him.

“He has one super soldier assassin, and he's looking for the only known success,” Tony told Rhodey, finally looking up to meet his friend's eyes.

As the realization of what Tony was implying hit him, Rhodey's eyes widened.

“But there's no way he survived the crash,” Rhodey almost whispered.

Tony looked over at Sargent who was staring at him intently, then back to Rhodey.

“He's been frozen repeatedly for years,” Tony told him. “Captain America crashed somewhere near Greenland and Iceland.”

“He could have survived,” Rhodey's tone had no inflection to it.

“We need to find him first,” Tony supplied.

“Greenland or Iceland, where am I flying to after we eat?” Rhodey demanded.

Flipping a page, Tony answered, “Greenland. I hope you packed your passport.”

Rhodey let out a sharp laugh. “Like you packed his?” and nodded towards Sargent.

Meeting Sargent's eyes again, Tony responded, “He's good at sneaking.”

Sargent inclined his head slightly.

Actually laughing this time, Rhodey said, “This is insane.”

“You wouldn't miss it for the world,” Tony answered, shooting Rhodey a smirk.

“You know it.”

 

They were somewhere over the Atlantic when Tony finally caught on to the fact that there were things in these files that made no sense in context.

At first, Tony put it off as Howard being insane. The man was experimenting on a super soldier from WWII and regularly freezing him in his secret basement. If there was a baseline for sanity, Howard was beyond it to the point where he wouldn't be able to find it with a compass and a map.

While he had a few of the folders spread out around him, he realized the pieces that made no sense in their own folders, started to make some sense together.

At that point, Tony began ripping out scraps of paper from various folders, labelling where they came from, and putting them in a new folder. This new folder had dozens of pieces of torn paper when he was finished. He spread them out on the far too small tray and started trying to sort them. To his frustration, there wasn't enough space for him to sort them in a way that made sense.

Deciding that this wasn't going to work, he dumped it on the floor and started spreading them around. He knew exactly how many there were, so he wasn't afraid of any escaping him as he crawled around.

Hydra. Why was the mythical creature being mentioned?

Glancing up at their guest from the past, Tony reminded himself that the Nazi science division had been destroyed by Captain America and the Howling Commandos. There was just no way that Howard was...

Well...

Tony went up and grabbed one of the folders he had set aside and skimmed it.

SHIELD was an intelligence agency that Howard was working with according to this. Tony could recall other projects stamped with the eagle on a shield. It had something to do with this Hydra.

Pulling out the Asset file, Tony took out the schematics for the chair and squinted at them. The photo quality was awful. The scan was more a proof that the blueprints existed, not something to work with. Still, there was a vague blob at the bottom of one corner that sparked his memory.

SHIELD's symbol was the eagle, and that did not look like an eagle.

Feeling more uneasy than he wanted to admit, Tony stared at the scraps of paper in front of him.

Turning to face Sargent, Tony took a deep breath. There was an easy way to find out.

Sargent looked up from whatever he had been doing with his pen and paper. His blue eyes met Tony's.

"Hail Hydra," Tony tested out the words, saying them clearly.

Sargent went ridged, then repeated back, "Hail Hydra," in a creepily devoted tone.

As Tony stared in horror, Sargent blinked then relaxed again. His face turned questioning.

"Mission?"

"Uh," Tony cleared his throat. "I don't have one for you buddy. I'll just... Get back to you on that one, at some point. We're kind of in a plane, in the air," Tony babbled.

His mind was elsewhere. It wasn't really proof but...

Pulling around some of the papers, Tony tried to get a clearer picture. He was missing things. Things that were probably in the folders he hadn't printed out. He hadn't thought to check the time-stamps on the old files, to see if they had been edited recently.

Even incomplete, Tony had enough that he knew he was right.

When he burst into the cockpit, Rhodey jumped.

"Tony! What the hell--!"

"Rhodey, Hydra still exists and they were the ones that found our current super soldier," Tony told him, thrusting a scrap of paper in his face.

Batting his arm away, Rhodey answered, "If you hadn't noticed I'm kind of in the middle of something. You, know, flying a plane. Not crashing."

"The sky is clear and there is currently no turbulence. Rhodey, did you hear what I said?" demanded Tony.

"I was too busy trying not to jerk the plane around after a near heart attack caused by someone supposed to be my best friend while flying in air space I am unfamiliar with," Rhodey informed him dryly.

"That's great, but when I'm trying to tell you that we have a brain washed assassin from Hydra in our plane I think it might be a good idea to listen to me," Tony retorted.

"Say that again?"

Since Rhodey had obviously heard him this time judging by the wide eyed stare Tony decided to move on.

"Hydra is still running, disguised inside an intelligence agency calling itself SHIELD that Howard has always worked with. I don't think Howard knew until recently, then they recruited him," Tony told his friend.

"Didn't your father help put a stop to Hydra?"

"Does the past really matter when in the present we have a problem?" Tony demanded.

"Considering we are currently looking for a potential icicle from the past, yes Tony, it matters!" exclaimed Rhodey.

"Whatever Howard used to think of them, he's now using their technology to help put people in the ground. I don't care how they got to him right now. I am far more concerned with Hydra having access to information from spies, morals guided by Adolf Hitler and access to minds like Howard's," Tony stated bluntly. "This is far bigger than one man."

Rhodey was silent for a moment, watching the gauges in front of him. "I would suggest going to the military with this, but this is a spy agency. Guns win wars, but only if the battle is in the open."

Meeting his eyes, Rhodey told him, "I'm not equipped to take down a terrorist organization in my own country. I can protect us from people, but not from black mail."

Snorting, Tony crossed his arms. "Well I wasn't trying to suggest we go in and blow the place up. We need to find out how deep the rot goes and then cut it out."

"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place."

The words were said in Sargent's monotone voice, from behind him. Turning to see the man in the doorway, Tony wondered when he had opened the door. He hadn't heard it. The man was like a ghost.

"That was their motto," Rhodey said quietly.

"Still is," Tony reminded him, because Hydra was still operating.

There was a pause, then Tony decided to try something.

“Sargent, Sarge-y, Sarge. My other most favourite military-type person. You work for Hydra, right?” questioned Tony.

Sargent's face became as expressive as stone. “I am Hydra's Asset,” he replied.

“You wouldn't happen to know all of Hydra's secret missions, personnel and bases, would you?” Tony asked in a coaxing voice.

“The Asset was brief before the last mission, all previous information was erased,” Sargent informed him in that dead voice.

“Right... it was worth a try,” Tony said finally. “Thank you.” 

He started to turn away to face Rhodey again when Sargent said, “Wait.”

The tone was so different than before that Tony spun around quickly.

Sargent looked... conflicted. The expression was so defined that Tony instantly felt anxious on his behalf.

“Yes?” he asked softly.

He watched Sargent's eyes widened, pupils dilating as he stared off into space. He swayed slightly.

Tony was about to speak when Sargent backed up a step and looked around wildly.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tony tried.

“No, I am not okay,” Sargent, snapped at him, then he turned and ran into the back of the plane.

“Shit, Tony!”

Not bothering to respond to Rhodey, Tony bolted after him.

“Woah there Sar--” 

“Don't say it! I am not him! I am not helping Hydra! Stay away from me!” ordered the man who definitely didn't sound like Sargent as he fumbled with the door out of the plane.

“You have the wrong idea! We're not Hydra!” Tony shouted frantically. If he jumped out of the plane at this altitude without a parachute even the ocean wouldn't save him from the fall.

“I don't believe you,” the man gritted out, grabbing the lever to the door.

“Bucky, please!” Tony tried.

The man froze for a moment, then released the handle.

Tony let out a sigh of relief and instantly regretted it as Bucky grabbed him by the shirt collar and turned to slam him against the side of the plane.

“The only one who ever called me that was Steve, what have you done to him?” Bucky demanded.

“Tony?!”

“Handling it Rhodes,” Tony shouted back to his friend. “I have no idea who Steve is, but Howard always spoke about Captain America. How could I not hear about his best pal Bucky Barnes too?”

Bucky sneered in his face. “Why should I believe scum working with Hydra?”

“Does this look like a Hydra facility to you? I would like to think I have a bit more taste than Nazis. Besides, do I look armed enough for that? The only weapon on this plane is your left arm, unless you count the knives in the kitchen, but I really don't think they're intended for that,” Tony told him.

Bucky stared at him with narrowed eyes, then abruptly looked at his left arm.

“Shit!” Dropping Tony, he stumbled back a step. “My—my arm...” He started shaking.

“Woah. Hey! It's alright,” Tony soothed, holding up his hands.

“It's not alright!” Bucky shouted, lifting his left arm. “Would you be alright if you suddenly woke up with this?!”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then don't go telling me it's alright!” Bucky screamed at him, backing up with the metal arm clutched to his chest.

Tony shut up and stayed against the wall, watching as Bucky panicked. He felt completely helpless as the guy lowered himself into a chair. Bucky was breathing far too fast as he rested his left arm on the arm rest and covered his face with his right hand.

Slowly lowering himself into the nearest chair so he sat sideways, Tony watched him. There didn't seem to be anything else to do.

“Tony?” Rhodey said over the intercom.

Reaching up, Tony pressed the button to make it so his voice would come over the speakers in the cockpit. 

“We're fine Rhodes, nobody died,” Tony replied.

“Good, keep it that way,” Rhodey answered curtly. Tony could tell he was concerned.

“Sure thing, Honey Bunch,” Tony said, then dropped his arm away from the button.

“Asshole,” Rhodey murmured into the mic.

Tony snorted, amused.

Bucky started rubbing his face. “I have gone insane, completely lost it,” he muttered.

“Sanity's relative,” Tony told him.

Scoffing, Bucky lowered his hand to look at him from under his hair. “Says the guy on the plane with only a pilot and a man with a metal arm.”

“I've done less sane things than board this plane,” Tony offered.

Staring at him, Bucky answered, “That really doesn't help your case. Where are we headed?”

“Greenland, where another man with questionable sanity crashed a plane,” Tony told him.

“Which man might that be?”

“Captain America.”

“What? Is he still alive?” Bucky asked urgently, his hands smacking down onto the chair arms. The right one survived but the left one was torn off the side with a loud crack.

There was a moment of silence as they both stared at where the arm used to be attached.

“I liked that chair,” Tony informed him.

“You have more,” Bucky answered rather breathlessly. 

“I do,” Tony allowed.

“Never mind the chair, what happened to Captain America?” questioned Bucky, his eyes returning to Tony.

“That's a bit complicated,” Tony told him, rubbing his fingers against his seat.

“He crashed a plane, that's not exactly complicated.”

Taking a breath, Tony explained, “He crashed a plane somewhere near Greenland, we think. Captain America hasn't been seen or heard from for fifty years. We think he survived, but we aren't sure. If he did, he's frozen in the ice.”

The other man stared at him incredulously. “You honestly expect me to believe that?”

Drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair, Tony shrugged a shoulder. “It doesn't really matter if you believe me or not, it's the truth. It'd be easier if you did, then you could come to terms with it sooner.”

Bucky studied him for a moment, then winced and raised his hand to his head.

Tony watched as a scowl came over his features, and his lips moved as if he was talking with no sound.

After a moment or two, Tony decided he needed to ask, “Are you alright?”

Bucky shot him a look. Okay yes, that was a stupid question.

“Why are you talking to yourself?” Tony asked.

That earned Tony an angry stare. “The...Sargent, wants me to talk to you,” replied Bucky.

“Who now?” Bucky was Sargent, one person.

“The Sargent,” Bucky answered, his voice practically hissing with frustration. “He's in here.” Bucky waved at his head. “He forced me to be here so I would talk to you.”

“You have a Sargent...in your brain. Making you do things,” Tony clarified.

“Not a... You're...” Bucky looked like he wanted to choke Tony, it was a look he was familiar with so he'd recognize it. “The guy you spoke to who wasn't me, that was Sargent.”

“Um...who am I speaking to now...?” Tony asked weakly. He really wasn't understanding.

Smacking his right hand to his face, Bucky made a sound of pure frustration. 

“There are two people, in my head. One is me, one is 'the Sargent'. This is the first time I have spoken to you, ever. You have been speaking to Sargent before now. Sargent is Hydra, or the Asset, whatever. I hate Hydra. Is that clear enough for you?” demanded Bucky. He dropped his hand to glare at Tony.

“Why would Sargent force you to talk to us?” asked Tony, his mind whirling with implications.

“To talk to you. And I don't know. He seems to think I'll know things he doesn't. Memories or something,” Bucky said with resentment.

“Wait wait wait. So you remember things and Sargent doesn't?”

“Yes, but I don't remember everything. I don't think I do anyway,” Bucky was frowning fiercely at the floor.

“Don't stare too hard, you might make a hole,” Tony couldn't resist saying as his mind continued to work.

Bucky shot him a scathing look but Tony ignored it.

"What do you remember about Hydra?" Tony inquired.

Frowning, Bucky looked past him. It was fascinating how much more expressive this part of the two of them was. Sargent barely showed anything, Bucky showed enough that you could easily tell how he was feeling. Or at least he did so far.

"I remember fighting them with St--Captain America and the Howling Commandoes. I also remember being captured by them. Then there was the train and...and I fell..." as his voice trailed off Bucky grew more pale. His eyes moved to his metal arm. He was staring at it with an expression that was growing steadily more terrified.

Tony cleared his throat, making Bucky jump and whip around to face him.

"Since you don't seem to know anything from the last years it probably isn't relevant information. You don't need to share any details. It would have been nice to know more about what we're facing but we have enough for now. Finding Captain America before they do is our top priority," Tony explained.

"If it's been fifty years what would be the point? He can't be still alive," Bucky pointed out, scowling and looking like he in no way believed it.

"As I said, if he'd been frozen he could have survived it."

"No one survives being frozen," Bucky argued.

"You did," Tony pointed out.

"What?"

Wincing, Tony looked around for his mug. He needed a drink, possibly the kind with alcohol.

"I guess you don't remember that either, that's probably for the best," he said, getting up to grab his mug. Coffee and alcohol sounded like the best idea.

"No, you better explain that to me," Bucky told him fiercely, standing to follow Tony.

"What's there to tell? Hydra used a machine to wipe your mind, which seems to have created Sargent, to make you into a weapon under their control. When they didn't need their pet assassin they froze you solid. Oh and Howard, who is my father, has been playing their lapdog for the past year or so. He's been the one fixing that arm of yours," Tony informed him clearly, saying each word in a measured way. He wanted to be understood the first time.

When Tony turned around, he raised his mug to take a sip, but paused. Bucky had a wounded expression on his face.

Suddenly Tony didn't have the stomach for coffee. Setting it aside, Tony laced his fingers together in front of him and leaned back on the counter behind him with his elbows braced there.

"I know it's a lot to take in, and it isn't pleasant, but that's what I know," Tony told him.

Bucky's face hardened. "Do you have proof?" his voice was gruff.

"Are you sure you want it?"

Not even hesitating, Bucky answered, "Yes."

Unlike Bucky, Tony couldn't help but pause. Gathering his resolve, Tony straightened and went to get the 'Asset' folder.

After handing that to Bucky without a word, Tony searched around until he found a newspaper. It was from a few months ago, Howard probably had left it here, but it would do.

Tony offered that to Bucky as well.

Not taking it, Bucky looked up at Tony with a grim expression.

"Proof of the year, if not the date," Tony explained. "We can always grab a fresh one after we land."

Wordlessly, Bucky took it and scanned the first page, then offered it back.

Taking it, Tony tossed it aside carelessly and went back to his seat. He still had more research to do.

 

"Make sure your seat belt is buckled and your tray isn't down so it can come up to smack you in the face while we land. I'm talking to you here Tony. We'll be landing in Goose Bay shortly," Rhodey informed them over the intercom.

Grumbling, Tony pushed the button to be heard in the cockpit. "Making a pitstop in Canada before we go to Greenland is an evil I wish we had avoided."

"We discussed it Tony. We have permission to do it this way. Any other flight path and we would have gotten in trouble. I would like to avoid doing that kind of thing before my military tour," retorted Rhodey.

"Fine, but that means I get to pick where we eat the minute we get back to the US," Tony informed him.

"The horror," Rhodey dead-panned.

Grinning, Tony dropped his hand away from the button and looked over at the super soldier. He had been quiet since Tony had given him the folder earlier. It made him uneasy.

The smile slipped from his face. "Are you alright?"

Cold blue eyes met his.

"Yes," the man answered simply. His face gave nothing away.

"Sargent?"

"Yes?" the other man asked.

"Sargent is the one I'm speaking to right now?" questioned Tony.

"Yes," Sargent repeated.

"Why did you take over from Bucky?" asked Tony.

"He had nothing to add," the super soldier replied.

"Why did you make Bucky take over?"

"He has access to more information. You wanted information," Sargent explained.

"I had asked about Hydra bases," Tony voiced his realization.

The other man didn't respond, just watched him.

Looking away, Tony thought over the new information. Knowing it was Sargent around made the quiet easier to bare. Even knowing it was Sargent the silence bothered him after too much time had passed, causing him to turn on his CD player after the plane landed. 

While they were on their way to Greenland Tony found more information that made him uneasy.  
Making his way to the cockpit, Tony told Rhodey, "I'll be paying the people at the airport in cash. Howard is in Greenland, for his yearly Captain America search. He headed there early. Normally I'd bill it to the company but there's a good chance he would notice."

Turning a bit to look at him, Rhodey replied, "That will eat a big chunk of your cash."

"What choice do I have? We're already running more of a risk than we should be since Howard is there. If I'd been aware of it I would have at least waited another day to fly there, then we wouldn't have to pay the fee to have them open on Sunday," Tony explained, sitting down to check the gauges.

Rhodey was silent for a moment, then asked, "How will we be finding Captain America?"

"I thought we might take this bird out and scan the ice for the plane he crashed in, but Howard will notice it if we're near his people. We should rent another plane to take out over the ice in the area where Howard calculated the plane to have crashed. He has more accurate data than ever before because of Hydra. The area he's searching this year will likely yield results," Tony informed him.

Rhodey hummed and then said, "It isn't your fault you know."

Stiffening, Tony asked, "What?"

"Any of this. Howard, Hydra, Bucky. You couldn't have known," Rhodey clarified.

"I could have checked sooner, I should have," Tony answered tersely.

"I'm sure you started looking before this. Howard didn't make it easy for you. Do you know when Howard was contacted by Hydra?" asked Rhodey.

Eyeing his friend suspiciously, Tony answered, "The files I found dated back to last year, some time after the accident."

Rhodey's face grew tense. "You had enough on your plate without adding this. You can't blame yourself for not looking after Howard after that kind of loss Tones. That time was bad for you, don't make it worse."

Frowning, Tony looked out at the sky.

"Sure," he answered shortly, then got up and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might go back and edit this chapter a bit at some point, I meant to before posting it but didn't want to.
> 
> The next chapter isn't finished yet, so I'm not certain when it will be ready for posting.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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